Then it hit me. There was no way they would have this info unless they’d gotten it from Razz himself. Did that mean he was in danger? Had he been abducted? Was this some fucking replicant created in Doctor O’s classified lab?

“Oh, God!” cried the guy at the end of the bar, holding his ribs like they hurt. “I can’t take it!” He stumbled from his stool and staggered toward the restroom, clutching his body, his face a sweating radish. Probably going back to blow another line of coke.

The first sip was a reflex. A conditioned response triggered by the ambience as a whole. The stool, the setting, the sounds, the smells, the scene. Taking a drink for an alcoholic is no different than drawing breath. It’s just as vital. And that first sip was more refreshing than clean air after inhaling smoke. It was like being reunited with a lover you thought had died. Worse, one you thought you’d killed. And she’s not even mad. In fact, she still loves you. Is ready to forget all about the breakup and go right back to the way things were.

Every morning, I wake up wanting more than anything to have a drink. Just one. Just one small, simple drink to take the edge off. To help me relax. To numb the pain just enough to tolerate it. I see my seven-year-old son’s look of confusion when I tie his shoes and want a sip of whiskey – just one – so that I don’t have to feel my heart break. Again and again and again. To dull the sound of his cries that I can’t soothe. Something, anything, to free me from this life of suffering, this coffin of skin and bones. But I bear it. And thank God every night I go to sleep sober that I made it another day without hurting anyone other than myself.

Alcoholism isn’t a disease; it’s a possession. That’s why we fight it with faith. In that moment of weakness, my faith had left me. I tell myself now that my body betrayed me. That the demon scaled the wall and slipped past my sentry men while they were busy piddling their dicks. But I know better. It was weakness, plain and simple. We look for any and every excuse that will validate our desire to use our drug of choice. And, in this instance, I allowed myself to cave. Perhaps even subconsciously, I told myself this was good enough of an excuse. I mean, fuck, what was the alternative?