Pete Doherty didn’t make it. From the start, I didn’t really think he stood a chance. He was the first to shoot, and throughout childhood he was the lanky one. He never really fully developed, and his two leaves were small and wilty. The curse of the goat’s skull loomed over him throughout his all-too-short life. In later days, the mushrooms started springing up in his pot. It was getting too late to continue denying that it is over for poor Pete Doherty.
This afternoon I buried his corpse. No, I’m not going to provide a photo.
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