fear and loathing on the road...or...ode to hunter s. thompson

we were somewhere in the process of asking the million dollar question of, "hey, just where in the hell are we" when i realized that i was still sitting in some all night diner only know as the arizona 24/7, with half a cup of coffee in one hand and a burning cigarette in the other. dead ahead and fast asleep was a farm green kid no older than 20 with his pale face resting on my typewriter. he had drool oozing through the keys. "oh that's it," i picked up an empty pack of marlboro 100's thinking that the sudden out burst would wake the bastard up from his post adalecent dreams of perky beach blonds. "up...up you dirty bastard."he had a half dazed, alcohol glazed look in his eyes which did nothing but stare back at me. "don't you know how hard it is to find a decent typewriter in the middle of a goddamn desert man!" that got him up alright, but in the process we'd attracted more attention than is healthy for two me of our dispossition a this hellish hour. " come on man we gotta get back to the car these fuckers are flaking out move your shit son." it was a mad dine and dash back to the car and we were off in a 60 mph whirlwind with two wheels riding the sidewalk. now at 115 and a careless disregard for local traffic laws, we were on the road. "listen youngblood it's thursday, and by sunday we're due in florida, so whatever kinda shit you think you can pull on the job just keep it in or you're gonna have a new assignment....call it "icu insiders report, just drive that way."

to be continued if wished