It’s About the Size of a Clenched Fist
You probably don’t remember, but you were with me for my final hangover. You were just three and needed a flu shot. The revelry from the night before hung onto me, smothered me, made each movement a chore as we made our way to the doctor’s office. But I want you to know that although...
True North
Looking back for a low point marking the worst of my insobriety, it might be that signal moment I put out my cigarette in the holy water font of St. Paul’s Catholic Church, right in front of the priest, I might add, who was too stunned to reach in and remove the soggy stub, but...