Sitting in a bar and asking yourself not to drink is like trying to sneak sun-up past a rooster.

That was something Gary told me in one of my meetings. Gary is this 62 year old divorced male, father of three kids and grandfather to four. He's been on and off the wagon for years he told me, and has some of the best goddamn advice I've ever heard. He's from Ohio, a place called Ashtabula. I love how he says it. Ash-Tah-Bew-La. He's got some soft southern accent and I always wonder why if he's from Ohio. Hm. Maybe it's his love of country music or something, who knows. He sits near me every meeting, brings me my cup of coffee and a french cruller from the snack table and there we sit. We talk through the meeting softly, well, it's more him blabbing away under his breath. He smokes. A lot. His breath is that terrible mixture of bad dentures, bitter coffee and stale Winstons. I like it though, it reminds me of childhood even though I didn't have a male figure like that around who smoked. I like Gary. His hands are huge and he works at the water department, 62 years old...he should be retired. He fought in Vietnam. But here he is the poor guy, fighting to stay sober and fighting the cold winters and hot summers by fixing water main breaks. I admire men like him. Hard-working smart asses. Raised to be good men but somehow it all got lost along the way during the 70's. He's probably got some half-breed kids he tells me; why he tells me I don't know but one day he told me Vietnamese women were given to the soldiers and most likely, 1 out of every 3 got pregnant. The kid or kids may be in their 30's by now if they lived. I think about this for a minute as I take a bite of the stale donut. Flaky frosting crumbs drop to my lap and I flick them away one by one with my finger. I chew and think about how only in AA would the two of us strangers meet and actually have a bond. I love listening to him. I consider going home and fucking him just to feel his large hands on me and make him happy if only for 7 minutes.

After the meeting though he heads toward another man and waves bye to me. I feel rejected in some weird and sick way and decide to head home, back to the apartment I call home anyway. Last month I moved. Again. Moved into a cool place with Nikki and her boyfriend. She's sexy and flirts with me constantly. I wonder if her boyfriend is home tonight. I'm horny and in need of something warm and delicious. I could call on a number of people, JERMAINE Coleman, James, Jenn, Rita I suppose. I don't care who at this point. You know how sometimes you just need it? That's me tonight.

I'm feeling temptation.
I want a drink.
I want some blow.
I'll settle for sweat and skin though. Something to make me feel pleasure and pain.

Sitting in a bar and asking yourself not to drink is like trying to sneak sun-up past a rooster.