"Look Ralph," I said, "Let's not kid ourselves. That was a very horrible drawing you gave him. It was the face of a monster. It got on his nerves very badly." I shrugged. "Why in hell do you think we left the restaurant so fast?" "I thought it was because of the mace," He said. "What mace?" He grinned. "When you shot at the headwaiter, don't you remember?" "Hell, that was nothing," I said. "I missed him.. And we were leaving, anyway." "But it got all over us," he said. "The whole room was filled with that damn gas. Your brother was sneezing and his wife was crying. My eyes hurt for two hours. I couldn't see to draw when we got back to the motel." "That's right," I said. "That stuff got on her leg, didn't it?" "She was angry." He said. "Yeah.. well, okay... Let's just figure we fucked up about equally on that one," I said. "But from now one let's try to be careful when we're around people I know. You won't sketch them and I won't mace them. We'll just try to relax and get drunk." "Right," He said. "We'll go native." -Hunter S Thompson, The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved, The Great Shark Hunt, page 32