Fear and Loathing in Western New York
We were somewhere around Batavia on the edge of the turf farms when the wings began to kick in. And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge Bills fans, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was stopped at a rest stop on the Thruway to Western New York. 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 Molson on his chest. “Never mind,” I said. “It’s your turn to drive.” I hit the brakes and aimed the family sized cross over utility vehicle toward the shoulder of the highway. No point mentioning those Bills fans, I thought. The poor bastard will see them soon enough. It was almost noon, and we still had more than 100 miles to go. They would be tough miles if we were going to find a place to watch the game.
We brought our own vegetables. My editor had also given me $300 in cash, most of which was already spent on cruciferous vegetables and leafy greens. The trunk of the car looked like a farmer's market. We had ten bags of salad, 25 bunches of kale, five beets and a whole galaxy of multi-colored carrots.
The only thing that really worried me was the beef on weck. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of a beef binge. And I knew we’d get into that beef pretty soon. Probably as soon as we got off the Thruway.
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