Читать книгу My Appetite for Destruction: Sex & Drugs & Guns ‘N’ Roses - Steven Adler - Страница 25

My grandparents had a small two-bedroom apartment in Hollywood about twenty miles from my parents’ place in Canoga Park. After their children grew up, they each preferred having their own bedroom. Since there wasn’t a third bedroom for me, my room was the bathroom. I kept my clothes in there, and a little clock radio, and that was it. The record player was in my grandfather’s room, so I kind of adopted it as my own. Grandpa worked at a bakery, and he would leave for work early in the evening, so I’d always be hanging out in Stormin’ Norman’s room listening to my records.

It was hilarious. My seventy-year-old grandfather slept in this room that I had covered with pictures from teen magazines, mostly rock stars like Aerosmith, Boston, a lot of Kiss, Bay City Rollers, even Shaun Cassidy and Leif Garrett. I dreamed of being a teen idol. Grandpa never complained about my decorating, and Big Lilly never complained about the noise. I would sleep on their sofa bed in the living room.

Grandpa would come home from the bakery at five in the morning and he’d have a shot of whiskey. I’d be drowsy but I’d always ask, “Hey, Grandpa, how are you?”

“Just fine. Just fine. Hey, Stevie, wanna snort?” He called a shot a “snort.”

I’d politely decline: “Nah, Grandpa.” He’d always offer me a shot, do one himself, then go in his room. He’d close the door and go to sleep. Snort.