Too Strange to Live, Too Wierd to Die
In my rare moments of ego, I like to imagine myself as this generations Hunter S Thompson. That I have to imagine myself in terms of somebody else shows you how much I have failed in that mission. But nothing has driven home the message of my failure to be Hunter more than the text message I received yesterday from the Marmot. He is leaving this weekend to go to Maine until August. Saturday was his going away party. Sunday he was supposed to meet up with a group of us for a gondola ride in Central Park. Instead of an appearance what I got was the following text:
Not Alive! In no condition to travel. Din't go to sleep last night, don't know where I am, but there is a pianist here...

It's the pianist part that gets me. The style of it. He is truly the Hunter S of this generation.

I'm going to miss that Marmot.

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