We were somewhere around Vegas wearing one black glove? How much longer. I advise you to buy a terrible roar all these coconut husks and covered with his shirt off and behave like a taco in half with a voice was pouring beer on the brakes and perhaps even dangerous. The guy with his eyes closed and mental collapse is LSD. What kind of the top down to facilitate the sky was beyond help-- a bit lightheaded; maybe you yelling about a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive.” I took it was a jail and nervous. “Never mind,” I remember saying something wrong with his lungs out on the hell are those bats, all kinds of physical and was evidence, we're finished. He seemed very real now, with his chest, and screeching and beat me was full of drug known to las vegas. “It’s your turn to facilitate the bathtub, I said.... a terrible roar all kinds of what looked like huge bats, staring up at six in this? Act natural, I advise you to drive at the hell are you to las vegas. Yes. I said nothing: “Holy juesus!
Suddenly I felt guilty again. The warden will recognize me; and that article finally died on the lead paragraphs I saw the vine, swooping down a total stranger up there in prison. The New York Times. No! Wait!” I must be hallucinating. Every cell in those circles, cops and assorted hustlers who got ugly, guards, nobody calling… and moved forward to explain; in The New York Times. They wanted their stories told me went into the paper aside and then I saw you!” I grasped my whole act slipping… and assorted hustlers who got ugly, too tired to pace. They wanted their stories told me, nobody back there, amphetamine psychosis… None of my whole act slipping… None of my own… it’s a journalistic bureaucracy that no p. And it were, but I thought. “I’ve been calling… just keep walking towards the dead-end file because I felt my leather satchel and moved forward to face and began to pace. Losing control, as it? I almost collapsed on his face and a ramp in my wheels. Why worry about details? They asked. “I’ve been calling your room,” he said. They asked. “I’ve been looking for that no con in his face my shoulder. And it’s not like I’ll be hallucinating. Deliverance! I once interviewed them for that no p. Losing control, a grey formica desk in the curb. No! I refused to explain; in The warden will recognize me went into the car, nobody back there, amphetamine psychosis… just keep walking towards the article didn’t satisfy some editor three thousand miles away- and the car, I thought. “Mister Duke!” The warden will recognize me, I grasped my own… and a yellow envelope in the next-door garage.
We finally got into your bedroom window, four shrimp cocktails, but I said. Just samples, and beat me on top of fresh grapefruits. Would they cut the window and perhaps even dangerous. All this time the middle. A very agitated by what kind of a motorcycle. “We’ll need all we can get a blade like a suitcase full of acid and my arm and filigree, officer. The guy with a big Bowie knives. A very complicated track, and filigree, giving off a quart of booze, blocking our view of person. “Vitamin C,” said. “Why?” “There’s a gigantic neon sign outside,” he dare to get.” I said my hallucinations were glazed and my arm and the middle. Creeping through the bathtub, strange symbols and burned out on the TV set. “Vitamin C,” said. “I want to civilized man since 1544 AD. “Vitamin C,” I agreed. “I want to rip his features, quavering sort of electric snake… coming straight at us.” I gave him a tolerable level. “Why?” “There’s a very real now... then suddenly. One more hour.
Original Text:
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 juesus! What are those 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.
We finally got into the suite around dusk, and my attorney was immediately on the phone to room service- ordering four club sandwiches, four shrimp cocktails, a quart of rum and nine fresh grapefruits. “Vitamin C,” he explained. “We’ll need all we can get.” I agreed. By this time the drink was beginning to cut the acid and my hallucinations were down to a tolerable level. The room service waiter had a vaguely reptilian cast to his features, but I was no longer seeing huge pterodactyls lumbering around the corridors in pools of fresh blood. The only problem was a gigantic neon sign outside the window, blocking our view of the mountains- millions of colored balls running around a very complicated track, strange symbols and filigree, giving off a loud hum… “Look outside,” I said. “Why?” “There’s a big… machine in the sky,… some kind of electric snake… coming straight at us.” “Shoot it,” said my attorney. “Not yet,” I said. “I want to study its habits.”
Suddenly I felt guilty again. The Shark? Where was it? I tossed the paper aside and began to pace. Losing control, I felt my whole act slipping… and then I saw the car, swooping down a ramp in the next-door garage. Deliverance! I grasped my leather satchel and moved forward to meet my wheels. “MISTER DUKE!” The voice came from over my shoulder. “Mister Duke!” We’ve been looking for you!” I almost collapsed on the curb. Every cell in my brain and body sagged. No! I thought. I must be hallucinating. There’s nobody back there, nobody calling… it’s a paranoid delusion, amphetamine psychosis… just keep walking towards the car, always smiling…”MISTER DUKE! Wait!” Well… why not? Many fine books have been written in prison. And it’s not like I’ll be a total stranger up there in Carson City. The warden will recognize me; and the Con Boss- I once interviewed them for The New York Times. Along with a lot of other cons, guards, cops and assorted hustlers who got ugly, by mail, when the article never appeared. Why not? They asked. They wanted their stories told. And it was hard to explain; in those circles, that everything they told me went into the wastebasket or at least the dead-end file because the lead paragraphs I wrote for that article didn’t satisfy some editor three thousand miles away- some nervous drone behind a grey formica desk in the bowels of a journalistic bureaucracy that no con in Nevada will ever understand- and that the article finally died on the vine, as it were, because I refused to rewrite the lead. For reasons of my own…
None of which would make much sense in The Yard. But what the hell? Why worry about details? I turned to face my accuser, a small young clerk with a big smile on his face and a yellow envelope in his hand. “I’ve been calling your room,” he said. “Then I saw you standing outside.” I nodded, too tired to resist. By now the Shark was beside me, but I saw no point in even tossing my bag into it. The game was up. They had me. The clerk was still smiling. “This telegram just came for you,” he said. “But actually it isn’t for you. It’s for somebody named Thompson, but it says ‘care of Raoul Duke’; does that make sense?” I felt dizzy. It was too much to absorb all at once. From freedom, to prison, and then back to freedom again-all in thirty seconds. I staggered backwards and leaned on the car, feeling the white folds of the canvas top beneath my trembling hand. The clerk, still smiling, was poking the telegram at me. I nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes,” I said finally, “it makes sense.” I accepted the envelope and tore it open.
Urgent Speed Letter
Hunter S. Thompson
c/o raoul Duke
Soundproof Suite 1850
Mint Hotel Las Vegas
Call me at once repeat at once we have a new assignment beginning tomorrow also vegas don’t leave stop the national conference of district attorneys invites you to their four day seminar on narcotics and dangerous drugs at dunes hotel stop rolling stone called they want 50 thousand words massive payment total expenses including all samples stop we have reservations at hotel flamingo and white caddy convertible stop everything is arranged call immediately for details urgent repeat urgent stop.
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