An essay by the Rolling

Ronnie Wood enters at 6 o'clock, precise as always, accompanied by his manager, the nurse who is holding the oxygen pump and the boy who is dragging him in a wheelchair. Two assistants lift him to the stretcher; one gives him an express blood transfusion and another keeps the Gibson Les Paul ready to hang around his neck.

Jagger appears humming Sympathy for the Devil in an unintelligible language and waving some maracas, while a woman follows behind, sweeping the dry leather from the floor that her body eternalized by formaldehyde gives off. Further back, another assistant holds him a box of dental prostheses, among which one stands out that comes with an immense fuchsia tongue, which he uses in some of his concerts and in official photos.

Outside, in the long corridor that leads to the study, the man is waiting impatiently for the man who brings directly from Rome a shroud personally blessed by the Pope, so that the sacrament of anointing can be supplied in time if one falls between one chord and another of Paint It Black. At her side, holding a clear acrylic container, a specialist waits with a pair of metal-polyethylene hips that no one knows who they are for.

Charlie Watts materializes from the shadows, with two coppery Rottweilers carrying devil-blessed drumsticks in their snouts, before panting back to lean against the bass drum.

With him comes a nurse dragging a huge defibrillator still hot from the most recent shock, and stands next to him just in case.

Up the corridor there is a bunch of groupies who have been with them since their 68 tour of the United States, but since the youngest is 75 years old, they are accompanied by their granddaughters and great-granddaughters with tons of pills, syrups and inhalers in case any of them get a "mortal upset".

Gravitating in the air above Keith, transparent as an ectoplasmic apparition, and stops next to two huge Marshall amps from where a technician stretches the cable for his guitar, with which he immediately begins to scratch Angie's riffs while the girls are outside. they scream or cough, and he responds with an agonized throat clearing that alerts his cardiologist, anesthesiologist, plastic surgeon, geriatrician, infectious disease specialist and the 7 nurses from hell who accompany him in his post-adolescent madness.

"Where are the drugs?" asks one of the chorus girls with a laugh, and the Rolling girls make a face of astonishment mixed with disgust, as if they were mentioning the Coronavirus.

“I was born in a cross-fire hurricane…” Mike starts after Keith's chords to start the rehearsal with Jumpin 'Jack Flash, but when they see that no one else is accompanying them, they turn around and notice the other two asleep , or dead, who knows.

The rehearsal is suspended, until further notice, while they try to revive the boys in deep lethargy, taking into account that they have to practice hard because the South American tour that will take them, among other destinations, to Venezuela, where they will play with Paul Gillman, the ninth Beatle, for the closing of the Suena Caracas of the Nueva Normalida in the Diego Ibarra square.


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