When Prince died almost a year ago, I cautioned everybody not to assume he was a drug addict. I’ve lived with chronic pain, and I know that even momentary relief can be a blessing. So I didn’t jump to the conclusion that the man was a junkie.
Sometimes, though, your snap judgment is the right one. Joe Coscarelli and Serge F. Kovaleski, NYT:
At the time of Prince’s death, his Paisley Park home and recording compound in Minnesota were strewn with “a sizable amount” of narcotic painkillers for which he did not have prescriptions, including some hidden in over-the-counter vitamin and aspirin bottles and others issued in the name of a close aide, according to newly released court documents…
In at least one instance, Prince procured an opiate prescription in the name of Kirk Johnson, a personal friend and employee since the 1980s, according to investigators…
In addition to Prince’s bedroom, pills were found throughout the residence, including in the laundry room, the police said.
Hiding pills in aspirin bottles, keeping them all over the house, procuring them under different names… That doesn’t sound right. That sounds like somebody with a problem.
I’m not going to judge the man, but I wish he’d gotten some help. I wish the people around him hadn’t enabled him. I wish he were still here. It didn’t have to end like this.