This is the fabric of a fair part of the novel.
They look like caricatures of used car dealers from Dallas, and sweet Jesus, there were a hell of a lot of them at 4:30 on a Sunday morning, still humping the American dream, that vision of the big winner somehow emerging from the last minute pre-dawn chaos of a stale Vegas casino.
Largely written in a stream of consciousness, the book covers the tail end and self-destruction of the '60s freedom and drug culture and the beginning of the increasing tightness of the 1970s.
And these crude pornographic photos smeared with mustard that had dried to a hard yellow crust? The two needed a more comfortable place to discuss the story and decided to take advantage of an offer from to write photograph captions for the annual desert race being held in Las Vegas from March 21—23, 1971.
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