Las Vegas was a nocturnal city by nature, so despite it being late, the traffic still sucked. The cab ride gave me even more time to think, which was the last thing I had wanted to do.

My brother was on the opposite end of the strip from where MHI was staying. This casino was older, more run-down, but he was living there for free as long as he played a few solo shows every week. There was a huge publicity shot poster of him at the entrance, looking all steely-eyed, with his shaved head and really long goatee, wearing a leather vest that showed off his muscular arms and intricate tats. The interior of this casino was dim, smelled like cigarette smoke, and was filled with old people playing nickel slot machines. I asked a cocktail waitress who was too worn down by life to be wearing an outfit that skimpy for directions. Tonight’s show was almost over.

The stage was in a bar in the back of the casino. Once I got past the pings and whistles of the electronic slots, I followed the sounds of a guitar. I paid the cover charge and got my hand stamped by a fat man at the door. I was glad to see there was still a pretty good-sized crowd. It was nothing like the mob he had been able to draw before, but the hardcore loyal fans hadn’t abandoned him. I made my way in, squeezing past a lot of men wearing spikes and chains and women with too little clothing and lots of extra piercings.

The song was a new one. Low key…sad. I didn’t think I’d ever heard him sound like that before. I’d heard him play loud, boisterous, frantic, often angry, but never depressed. This was a new development.

I spotted Mosh in the back, on the stage, all alone except for a stool, some pedals, a microphone, and his guitar. I was glad that it was dark and the lights were shining in his eyes. I was worried seeing me in the audience might have screwed him up.

My brother looked rough, worn down, tired. I was used to seeing him with a certain boundless enthusiasm, especially when he was playing. The look on his face was one of concentration, of frustration, not that zen look of this is what I love that he used to have. He’d been the best in the world at something, only that had been ripped away and stolen. The fun was gone.