THE SIXTIES WERE AN ERA OF EXTREME REALITY. I MISS THE SMELL OF TEAR GAS. I MISS THE FEAR OF GETTING BEATEN.
"My concept of death for a long time was to come down that mountain road at 120 and just keep going straight right there, burst out through the barrier and hang out above all that... and there I'd be, sitting in the front seat, stark naked, with a case of whiskey next to me and a case of dynamite in the trunk... honking the horn, and the lights on, and just sit there in space for an instant, a human bomb, and fall down into that mess of steel mills. It'd be a tremendous goddam explosion. No pain. No one would get hurt. I'm pretty sure, unless they've changed the highway, that launching place is still there. As soon as I get home, I ought to take the drive just to check it out."
Hunter S Thomson, 18 Juli 1937 - 20 Februari 2005
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