The Devil's Bullets

Robert Johnson met the Devil at the crossroads and sold Old Scratch his soul so that he could play guitar. It's a dusty place, cold and empty with a wind that cuts you to the bone. Yet that sweet, wicked music that bubbles up out of you seems to make it worth the price. There's a sweetness to the darkness and a fondness for the sorrow that it celebrates. Rub your hands in that dust. Feel that cold wind on your sweaty brow. Mold those devil's bullets and take aim.