Free Proud Highway:Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman by Hunter S. Thompson

awake yet.
    In Chicago—a very sleepy man gets slowly off a train and wanders into the coffee shop. He’s going back home to Dayton, Ohio to get married tothe girl he dated all through high school. He’s going back to California on his honeymoon. He’s a bit actor at Universal-International.
    In Louisville—Mr. [Harold] Tague turns over in his sleep, perhaps dreaming that he is back at Male, teaching English again. A light fog hovers over the baseball diamonds in Seneca Park. A light-grey Plymouth station wagon speeds out Lexington Road. Is it Bob Butler 13 ? No, it couldn’t be—he’s married and has a child. Anyway, what would he be doing out at this hour of the morning? What was he always doing at this hour of the morning, speeding out Lexington Road? Damn—it does look like Butler at that. Maybe it’s his ghost. Time marches on.
    In Nashville—a colored porter dozes in the corner of the Tennessean Hotel. The city is not yet up and about. A phone rings, startling him out of his sleep. He slowly rises and shuffles over to answer it. By the time he gets there, it has stopped ringing. He picks it up and mumbles indistinctly into the mouthpiece. Putting it down, he shuffles slowly back to his chair.
    In Tallahassee—a very pretty dark-haired girl sits up in bed and brushes the sleep from her eyes. She wonders if her date this afternoon will be as dull as the one last night. Why doesn’t she go to New York and be a model—at least her dates would be exciting. She’ll probably get married soon, to a dull but faithful boy, and live a life of contented boredom. Still—it would be nice.…
    In New Orleans—Eichelburger staggers out of a bistro. Drunk for the first time in weeks, he draws a caustic comment from the bartender: “these goddamn college boys.”
    In St. Louis—an airman sits alone at a bus stop. Broke, he wonders how he’s going to get back to Scott Air Force Base. He wonders why in hell he ever left home in the first place. He had a good job at his father’s store in Detroit, and now he’s waiting to be shipped into the midst of a war in the Middle East. Maybe that winehead over there will give him some money. No, he looks like he hasn’t had a meal in a week. Oh well. A car stops by the lake in Forest Park; the lights go out.
    In Denver—a newsboy hurries through his rounds so he can get back to bed soon. The slap of a Sunday paper hitting a porch is the only sound to break the chilly silence. He folds another paper and hurries down the street.
    In San Francisco—life goes on. Hopes rise and dreams flicker and die. Love plans for tomorrow and loneliness thinks of yesterday. Life is beautiful and living is pain. The sound of music floats down a dark street. A young girl looks out a window and wishes she were married. A drunk sleeps under a bridge. It is tomorrow.
    In Fort Walton Beach—an Air Policeman looks into the newspaper offices at Eglin Air Force Base and wonders if that fool in there is looting the place or if he is crazy enough to be working. A station in Tallahassee is broadcasting some sort of religious music. Yours truly prepares to leave the office and go eat breakfast before going to bed. He will sleep most of the day and work all night again tonight. Tomorrow is a holiday. He is not particularly happy, but neither is he particularly sad. He just sits … and thinks … and wonders.
    I just thought I’d put some of my thoughts into writing. Thanks for your last letter and write again when you have the time. I always enjoy hearing from you. Good luck and here’s hoping that you’re always “shoe.” 14
    your friend,
Hunter
    TO JUDY STELLINGS :
    A beautiful Louisville debutante, Stellings dated Thompson in high school. While in the Air Force he often wrote her about his dislike for the military and his longing for the Bluegrass State. During his stint at Eglin