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Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas :: Thompson Hunter S.
Страница: 233 из 255but I have a bad heart, and I hope -“
"Certainly!" she exclaimed-and within seconds she was back with a dosen amyls. I paid without quibbling about the ecclesiastical discount. Then I opened the box and cracked one under my nose immediately, while she watched.
"Just be thankful your heart is young and strong," I said. "If I were you I would never… ah… holy shit!… what? Yes, you'll have to excuse me now; I feel it coming on." I turned away and reeled off in the general direction of the bar.
"God's mercy on you swine!" I shouted at two Marines com ing out of the men's room.
PAN id=title>
To Bob Geiger,
for reasons that need
not be explained here
– and to Bob Dylan,
for Mister Tambourine Man
“ He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.”
– Dr. Johnson
Part One
We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like “I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive…” And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: “Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?”
Then it was quiet again. My attorney had taken his shirt off and was pouring beer on his chest, to facilitate the tanning process. “What the hell are you yelling about?” he muttered, staring up at the sun with his eyes closed and covered with wraparound Spanish sunglasses. “Never mind,” I said. “It’s your turn to drive.” I hit the brakes and aimed the Great Red Shark toward the shoulder of the highway. No point mentioning those bats, I thought. The poor bastard will see them soon enough.
It was almost noon, and we still had more than a hundred miles to go. They would be tough miles. Very soon, I knew, we would both be completely twisted. But there was no going back, and no time to rest. We would have to ride it out. Press registration for the fabulous Mint 400 was already underway, and we had to get there by four to claim our sound - proof suite. A fashionable sporting magazine in New York had taken care of the reservations, along with this huge red Chevy convertible we’d just rented off a lot on the Sunset Strip… and I was, after all, a professional journalist; so I had an obligation to cover the story, for good or ill.
"Certainly!" she exclaimed-and within seconds she was back with a dosen amyls. I paid without quibbling about the ecclesiastical discount. Then I opened the box and cracked one under my nose immediately, while she watched.
"Just be thankful your heart is young and strong," I said. "If I were you I would never… ah… holy shit!… what? Yes, you'll have to excuse me now; I feel it coming on." I turned away and reeled off in the general direction of the bar.
"God's mercy on you swine!" I shouted at two Marines com ing out of the men's room.
PAN id=title>
To Bob Geiger,
for reasons that need
not be explained here
– and to Bob Dylan,
for Mister Tambourine Man
“ He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.”
– Dr. Johnson
Part One
We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like “I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive…” And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: “Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?”
Then it was quiet again. My attorney had taken his shirt off and was pouring beer on his chest, to facilitate the tanning process. “What the hell are you yelling about?” he muttered, staring up at the sun with his eyes closed and covered with wraparound Spanish sunglasses. “Never mind,” I said. “It’s your turn to drive.” I hit the brakes and aimed the Great Red Shark toward the shoulder of the highway. No point mentioning those bats, I thought. The poor bastard will see them soon enough.
It was almost noon, and we still had more than a hundred miles to go. They would be tough miles. Very soon, I knew, we would both be completely twisted. But there was no going back, and no time to rest. We would have to ride it out. Press registration for the fabulous Mint 400 was already underway, and we had to get there by four to claim our sound - proof suite. A fashionable sporting magazine in New York had taken care of the reservations, along with this huge red Chevy convertible we’d just rented off a lot on the Sunset Strip… and I was, after all, a professional journalist; so I had an obligation to cover the story, for good or ill.