"But our trip was different. It was a classic affirmation of everything right and true and decent in the national character. It was a gross, physical salute to the fantastic possibilities of life in this country-but only for those with true grit. And we were chock full of that.”
The Independent turns three this weekend. And, you know what that means...time to rent a fast car (with no top), load up on heinous chemicals, and drive (like a bastard) to Vegas for a weekend of atavistic searching for the main nerve of the American dream.
On Friday and Saturday night, we'll turn the Independent into a trashed vegas hotel room and celebrate the fact that, somehow, three years later, we still haven't burned the place down.