The guys are hanging out in the dressing room, the green room, the whatever room. Donnie Iris, Dave Granati, Ricky Granati, Hermie Granati, and Joey Granati, occupying subterranean quarters underneath The Strand Theater in Zelienople, like, thirty minutes before their gig. The Granati’s mom should have been here already but she’s stuck outside because someone forgot to put her name on The List. Norma. Eighty-three years old. “She looks good for her age. You’d think maybe six

Kenny Chesney is at Heinz Field. White cowboy hat. Sleeveless shirt. Jeans. Leader of the “No Shoes Nation” and wearing two cowboy boots. Sweating. Singing. And totally pissing off the hospital security guards. “I’d like to kick Kenny Chesney’s ass,” says one as he steps outside of the hospital and into the 76-degree night, a few steps from the ambulances and a few miles away from the 45,000 country music fans and Gold lots that cost fifty bucks to park/tailgate/urinate/vomit