He had as he said “complete freedom”.
In his words, “Total creative license, and support to go anywhere and do anything I want at anytime.”
He had a daughter that loved him.
He had no checkbook to balance. Just numbers to call to get whatever he wanted or needed anytime of the day or night.
Sometimes the most difficult choice of the day was deciding between a burger and a beer at a bowling alley in Pittsburgh and something endangered and flambe’d served on sterling silver at the White House.
Two days ago he hanged himself in his hotel room.
What do I see everywhere? People stupidly in response posting the suicide hotline number all over the place like they are saving the fucking world.
And here I sit without any rope in too much fucking pain and too weak to reach anything useful if I had one. With the immense privilege of sharing Tony’s depression. I best be grateful or Karma will fuck me.