JК
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas :: Thompson Hunter S.
Страница: 229 из 255I decided it might look more natural if I found somebody to chat with-a routine line of small talk, between passengers:
“Hy’re yew, fella! I huess you’re probably wonderin’ what make sme sweat like this? Yeah! Well, god damn, man! Have you read the newspapers today?… You’d never believe what those dirty bastards have doen this time!”
I figured that would cover it… But I could’nt find anybody who looked safe enough to talk to. The whole airport was full of people who looked like they might go for my float ing rib if I made a false move. I felt very paranoid… like some kind of criminal skullsucker on the lam from Scotland Yard.
Everywhere I looked I saw Pigs… because on that morn ing the Las Vegas airport was full of cops: the mass exodus after the climax of the District Attorneys' Conference. When I finally put this together I felt much better about the health of my own brain
EVERYTHING seems to be ready.
Are you Ready?
Ready?
Well, why not? This is a heavy day in Vegas. A thousand cops are checking out of town, scurrying through the airport in groups of three and six. They are heading back home. The drug conference is finished. The Airport Lounge is humming with mean talk and bodies. Short beers and Bloody Marys, here and there a victim of chest rash rubbing Mexsana under the armpit straps of a thick shoulder holster. No point hiding this business any longer. Let it all hang out… or at least get some air to it.
Yes, thank you kindly.. I think I busted a button on my trousers. I hope they don't fall down. You don't want my trousers to fall down now, do you?
Fuck no. Not today. N ot right here in the middle of the Las Vegas airport, on this sweaty -hard morning at the tail end of this mass meeting on the Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs.
“When the train… come in the station… I looked her in the eye… “
»Grim music in the airport.
“Yes, it’s hard to tell it’’s hard to tell, when all your love’s in Vain…”
Every now and then you run up on one of those days when everythings in vain… a stone bummer from start to finish; if you know what's good for you, on days like these you sortof hunker down in a safe corner and watch. Maybe think a bit. Lay back on a cheap wooden chair, screened off from traffic, and shrewdly rip the poptops out of five or eight Budweisers… smoke off a pack of King Marlboros, eat a nut-butter sandwich, and finally toward evening gobble a wad of good mescaline… then drive out, later on, to the beach.
“Hy’re yew, fella! I huess you’re probably wonderin’ what make sme sweat like this? Yeah! Well, god damn, man! Have you read the newspapers today?… You’d never believe what those dirty bastards have doen this time!”
I figured that would cover it… But I could’nt find anybody who looked safe enough to talk to. The whole airport was full of people who looked like they might go for my float ing rib if I made a false move. I felt very paranoid… like some kind of criminal skullsucker on the lam from Scotland Yard.
Everywhere I looked I saw Pigs… because on that morn ing the Las Vegas airport was full of cops: the mass exodus after the climax of the District Attorneys' Conference. When I finally put this together I felt much better about the health of my own brain
EVERYTHING seems to be ready.
Are you Ready?
Ready?
Well, why not? This is a heavy day in Vegas. A thousand cops are checking out of town, scurrying through the airport in groups of three and six. They are heading back home. The drug conference is finished. The Airport Lounge is humming with mean talk and bodies. Short beers and Bloody Marys, here and there a victim of chest rash rubbing Mexsana under the armpit straps of a thick shoulder holster. No point hiding this business any longer. Let it all hang out… or at least get some air to it.
Yes, thank you kindly.. I think I busted a button on my trousers. I hope they don't fall down. You don't want my trousers to fall down now, do you?
Fuck no. Not today. N ot right here in the middle of the Las Vegas airport, on this sweaty -hard morning at the tail end of this mass meeting on the Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs.
“When the train… come in the station… I looked her in the eye… “
»Grim music in the airport.
“Yes, it’s hard to tell it’’s hard to tell, when all your love’s in Vain…”
Every now and then you run up on one of those days when everythings in vain… a stone bummer from start to finish; if you know what's good for you, on days like these you sortof hunker down in a safe corner and watch. Maybe think a bit. Lay back on a cheap wooden chair, screened off from traffic, and shrewdly rip the poptops out of five or eight Budweisers… smoke off a pack of King Marlboros, eat a nut-butter sandwich, and finally toward evening gobble a wad of good mescaline… then drive out, later on, to the beach.