"Fear and Loathing in Elko" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Hunter S)

felt when we powered down to the farm and whipped Stanford? Well, it
felt like That.

I digress. My fits of Joy are soiled by relentless flashbacks and
ghosts too foul to name....Oh no, don't ask Why. You could have been
president, Jann, but your road was full of forks, and I think of this
when I see the forked horns of these wild animals who dash back and
forth on the hillsides while rifles crack in the distance and fine
swarthy young men with blood on their hands drive back and forth in
the dusk and mournfully call our names....

O Ghost, O Lost, Lost and Gone, O Ghost, come back again.

Right. and so much for autumn. The trees are diseased and the
Animals get in your way and the President is usually guilty and most
days are too long, anyway....So never mind my poem. It was wrong from
the start. I plagiarized it from an early work of Coleridge and then
tried to put my own crude stamp on it, but I failed.

So what? I didn't want to talk about fucking autumn, anyway. I was
just sitting here at dawn on a crisp Sunday morning, waiting for the
football games to start and taking a goddamn very brief break from
this blizzard of Character Actors and Personal Biographers and sickly
Paparazzi that hovers around me these days (they are sleeping now,
thank Christ -- some even in my own bed). I was sitting here all
alone, thinking, for good or ill, about the Good Old Days.

We were Poor, Jann. But we were Happy. Because we knew Tricks. We
were Smart. Not Crazy, like they said. (No. They never called us late
for dinner, eh?)

Ho, ho. Laughs don't come cheap these days, do they? The only guy
who seems to have any fun in public is Prince Cromwell, my shrewd and
humorless neighbor -- the one who steals sheep and beats up women,
like Mike Tyson.

Who knows why, Jann. Some people are too weird to figure.

You have come a long way from the Bloodthirsty, Beady-eyed news Hawk
that you were in days of yore. Maybe you should try reading something
besides those goddamn motorcycle magazines -- or one of these days
you'll find hair growing in your palms.

Take my word for it. You can only spend so much time "on the
throttle," as it were....Then the Forces of Evil will take over.
Beware....

Ah, but that is a different question, for now. Who gives a fuck? We
are, after all, Professionals....But our Problem is not. No. It is the
Problem of Everyman. It is Everywhere. The Question is our Wa; the