I had a girlfriend and I had a car. I had escaped my deranged parents. I was working for one of the hottest bands in the world. I was even making good money, when I worked. I’d gone from eighty dollars a week with Fat to eighty dollars every few hours. At long last, I was really making it. At least, that was how I felt when things went well for me. When they didn’t, I heard the little voices in my head. You’re just a fraud. This stuff will never work. What will they say when they come to get it and it’s in a million pieces on your bench? Sometimes, working on the KISS guitars, I would get all
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