A great piece on Hunter by his friend Paul Theroux. I’ve noticed that Thompson knew the best and brightest of our times, and they are all keen to write about him now. As it should be.
The end says it all about the man really:
“America is a country that celebrates fakes and posturers, but Hunter S Thompson, who shot himself to death inside his walled compound, Owl Farm, in Colorado, on February 20, was the real thing. The genuine article, as he would have said; the real McCoy. He lived the life he wanted, as half outlaw, half hero, without any inhibition; broke the law when he felt it impinged upon him, was beholden to no one, shot holes in any fakery he found – either with a .44 Magnum or a breezy vocabulary; and he died the same way, at the moment of his choosing, probably in great pain from a variety of ailments – spinal injury, broken bones and psychic wounds. “Pain” in the metaphysical sense too.”