They say that in my darkest moments, I can channel Hunter S. Thompson.
I don’t think I’m anywhere near the guy. The dude was amazing.
But one day, I got close. Really close.
I loaded my gun, pointed it at my head, and pulled the trigger.
The fucking gun jammed.
The difference between me and Hunter is that he kept his guns in fine working order.
His gun didn’t jam.
Well, that and he was drunk off his ass at the time. And suffering constant pain.
I keep the bullet in my pocket, in case it ever wants a rematch.

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