I wish my love were here to hold me.

I’m up sewing at Jenn’s apartment. My clothes are half off and we stripped Jenn topless so I might lace her corset properly. Derek and Jeff are over, talking shop. I checked my mail here to discover that Hunter Thompson shot himself. I’m partially recovered now, though my hands are still shaking. A writer has been ripped from us, I should have been older when this news came.

I wish my love were here to hold me.

hunter s thompson is dead

Hunter S. Thompson, the acerbic counterculture writer who popularized a new
form of journalism in books like “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” fatally
shot himself Sunday night at his Aspen-area home, his son said. He was 67.

“Hunter prized his privacy and we ask that his friends and admirers respect
that privacy as well as that of his family,” Juan Thompson said in a statement
released to the Aspen Daily News.

Pitkin County Sheriff Bob Braudis, a personal friend of Thompson, confirmed
the death to the News. Sheriff’s officials did not return calls to The
Associated Press late Sunday.