So I suffered through my migraines, mostly without saying a word to anyone. If they were real at all, they were still my fault.

He tells me to pick a pose I can hold for a while. In a big “fuck you” to any feminist ideals I might hold, I fall immediately, and without thinking, into a total pin-up pose—standing with my legs slightly apart, back arched, hip cocked to the right

A therapist once told me that all my stories ended in violence. This isn’t one of those stories.

I had passed Hunter’s test. I had managed to piss off the cops, keep my mouth shut and not rat on anyone—in other words, do all the things a faithful assistant to the father of gonzo journalism is supposed to do. And while I could easily have shoved o