rabbiteleven

Finally, after many hours burning through stimulants, my body offered me a little slice of respite from the throbbing pain in my head. And who was waiting for me on the other side of consciousness? The late Hunter S. Thompson, apparently. He was oddly calm and loquacious. There was something very important that he had to impart to me while I sat across from him, sketching. I wasn't doing this to be rude, or because I was taking visual dictation-it simply helped me to think for some reason. And now, of course, I have forgotten everything we discussed. Maybe it will come back to me. I hope so. Otherwise, the next time I close my eyes I may be staring down the barrel of a .357, only able to discern that I am a 'goddamnemptyheadedpigfuckingsonofabitch'.