Raoul Duke: I was pouring sweat. My blood is too thick for Nevada. I've never been able to properly explain myself in this climate.
Raoul Duke: The possibility of physical and mental collapse is now very real. No sympathy for the Devil, keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride.
Raoul Duke: With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever. Always thinking that just behind some narrow door in all of his favorite bars, men in red woolen shirts are getting incredible kicks from things he'll never know.
Raoul Duke: Panic. It crept up my spine like first rising vibes of an acid frenzy. All these horrible realities began to dawn on me. There I was. Alone in Las Vegas, completely twisted on drugs, no cash, no story for the magazine, and on top of everything else, a gigantic god damned hotel bill to deal with. How would Horatio Alger handle this situation? Stay calm. Stay calm.
Raoul Duke: If the pigs were gathering in Vegas, I felt the drug culture should be represented as well. And there was a certain bent appeal in the notion of running a savage burn on one Las Vegas hotel, and then just wheeling across town and checking into another. Me and a thousand ranking cops from all over America. Why not? Move confidently into their midst.
Raoul Duke: Order us some golf shoes, otherwise we'll never get out of this place alive. Impossible to walk in this muck. No footing at all.
Raoul Duke: Jesus, bad waves of paranoia, madness, fear and loathing - intolerable vibrations in this place. Get out. The weasels were closing in. I could smell the ugly brutes.
Raoul Duke: Total control now. Tooling along the main drag on a Saturday night in Vegas. Two good old boys in a fire-apple red convertible. Stoned. Ripped. Twisted. Good people.
Raoul Duke: My attorney had never been able to accept the notion, often espoused by former drug abusers, that you can get a lot higher without drugs than with them, and neither have I for that matter.
Raoul Duke: Yeah, I know. I'm guilty. I understand that. I knew it was a crime, and I did it anyways. Shit, why argue? I'm a fucking criminal, look at me.
Raoul Duke: There was only one road back to L.A. - U.S. Interstate 15. Just a flat-out high speed burn through Baker and Barstow and Berdoo. Then onto the Hollywood Freeway, and straight on into frantic oblivion. Safety. Obscurity. Just another freak, in the freak kingdom.