My pitch to live 24 hours like Hunter S. Thompson was killed on account of not being able to procure enough cocaine by 3:45 p.m., the time that Thompson would start to binge on the stuff. Also: lawyers, waivers, etc.
Instead, Carlson grabbed some healthier Trader Joe’s sustenance and put together a string of photos documenting Thompson’s late 1950s and early 1960s Manhattan abodes. The fun of an article like this is the comments, drawing out the latest ramblings of HST fans. A couple of our favorites:
LesFleursDuMal: I’ve seen that [E.G. Carroll biography] rundown on HST’s [daily] routine before and also read that it was made up by a journalist who had an ax to grind with Thompson. But even if it’s HALF true, yeah, he did live like a boss.
Rinderpest: I met him briefly at the Woody Creek Tavern in 1997… I had a burger and then relayed the [John Denver] heated driveway story to the bartender. Hunter S. Thomson was there and overheard and assured me that Denver was a “hard man” compared to the other dwellers of Starwood. This would have been about 1pm or 2pm so not quite his rising hour, but he was drinking Chivas. I really did not say anything else to him though I was a big fan.
[Stencil illustration: BMCL/Shutterstock.com]
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