The Alcoholic

That was one thing, perversely, that i liked about coke—losing all feelings in my face.

I didn't blame her for anything. She was young and confused. What was my excuse? I was old and confused.

And as the world came apart at the seams, i didn't even have the fortitude not to drink.

I ducked into the first available door so as not to be seen. The first available door happened to be a bar.

My favorite writers are almost always alcoholic.

I'm Jewish, but it's like a blood chemistry of someone who's half-Irish half-native american.