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e were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. Press registration for the fabulous Mint 400 was already underway, and we had to get there by four to claim our soundproof suite. "Now take that stuff and get the hell away from here," one of them shouted through the slit. " "That'll give him something to think about," he muttered as we drove off. They're easy to spot." We had trouble, again, at the car rental agency. "Just check it out," they said, "and we'll take it from there. We were forced to stand in line with all the others – which proved to be extremely difficult under the circumstances.
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I remember saying something like "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive. " Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail Then it was quiet again. It was almost noon, and we still had more than 100 miles to go. Very soon, I knew, we would both be completely twisted. 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 ... "Because I want you to know that we're on our way to Las Vegas to find the American Dream." I smiled. After signing all the papers, I got in the car and almost lost control of it while backing across the lot to the gas pump. I kept telling myself: "Be quiet, be calm, say nothing ...
..." 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 100 miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. My attorney had taken his shirt off and was pouring beer on his chest, to facilitate the tanning process. " he muttered, staring up at the sun with his eyes closed and covered with wraparound Spanish sunglasses. "It's your turn to drive." I hit the brakes and aimed the Great Red Shark toward the shoulder of the highway. and I was, after all, a professional journalist; so I had an obligation to for good or ill. speak only when spoken to: name, rank and press affiliation, nothing else, ignore this terrible drug, pretend it's not happening. yes, We brought this red shark all the way from the Strip and now it's time for the desert, right?
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All this had been rounded up the night before, in a frenzy of high-speed driving all over Los Angeles County – from Topanga to Watts, we picked up everything we could get our hands on. "We're not like the others." O Christ, I thought, he's gone around the bend. "Or I'll put the leeches on you." He grinned, seeming to understand. How long before one of us starts raving and jabbering at this boy? This same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson family. I glanced over at my attorney, but he seemed oblivious – watching the road, driving our Great Red Shark along at a hundred and ten or so. Maybe I'd better have a chat with this boy, I thought.
Not that we all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. Luckily, the noise in the car was so awful – between the wind and the radio and the tape machine – that the kid in the back seat couldn't hear a word we were saying. Will he make that grim connection when my attorney starts screaming about bats and huge manta rays coming down on the car?
Broke straight boys', trying to make motherfucking rent.