Sad in my chest.

Hunter S. Thompson died tonight. He killed himself, shot himself in the head. I know it doesn’t effect me at all, in any way, but it does. I never thought for a moment that guy was mortal. It never occured that he would be gone.

And he did, he did it himself. I guess it’s fitting. I don’t even know much about him, I love Fear and Loathing (the movie) and I have the documentry on him “Breakfast with Hunter”, but why am I thinking about it? All of that knowledge, all of that specialness, gone. I wonder if he was scared with the gun in his mouth. Probably not. If I ever did it I’d make sure to do it quick or else I’d think about it too much and wimp out. Was he excited?

He’s never coming back. I just imagine a chalkboard with his brains shot all over it, and someone’s just erasing it all. Why? It makes me sad.