![Altamont, The Rolling Stones, the Hells Angels, and the Inside Story of Rock’s Darkest Day](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_sq7gbnGhhU4H8_NC99nLfJFZE7bAkg3Q4s8SvdwyXfbABNDna_DqBprEnmIcmcoMHsLIdQJhhKewo4QfAVw66rbkFiFe65xevESeCJpsOC0Akvi5EFbzPVcGXUCwX1yBNl5SWYbFuv-DgLxboceZz9gKFx8xGhXJMFcopCLlCrNBIjsJTBIkfFwTb4kIgRWN3B=s0-d)
I could feel it before I got there. Several miles out and the dark vibes curled through the air like a toxic vapor. Serpentine streams of people twisted through the hills, uncertain of exactly where they were going. There were no maps. No trails. No signs. Nothing pointing toward our destination: Altamont." By Marc Campbell.
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