The past four months of stories on this site represent an attempt to overcome my addiction. I’ve been peeling back layers of myself which are made up of people I respect. Today I’ve finally gotten to the core.





  I think I’m drunk. I took my legs out for a walk to test them and they were rubbery-drunk all right. Almost useless. I walked one block up Pandora Street and then came back home. The sun is out and people were on their hands and knees digging things up or planting things in their gardens. I threw up on the sidewalk in front of a lovely heritage house on the corner that’s surrounded by flowers.  I peeled off the label from my beer bottle, wrote an apology on the back of it, finished the beer and placed the note under the empty bottle next to the vomit. I felt a sense of accomplishment, like I was giving back to the neighborhood. That’s when I knew I could turn back and come back with some pride. Even drunks have their dignity.