Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

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

all swooping screeching diving

around the car,
which was going
about a hundred
miles an hour
with the top down
to Las Vegas. Las Vegas

And a voice was screaming:

Holy Jesus!
What are these
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 wrap-around 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.