I wasn't surprised when Kenny drank himself to death--saddened, yes, but he'd as much as told me he would. I even watched him do it for a while, until it got too damn depressing. I would've done anything to help him, I mean, he was my best friend, but it was too late for Kenny almost before it began.

I knew a lady once--and she was a lady, not just a woman--who loved alcohol the way some people love their children. We used to sit in a bar over on Gilbert Street and argue for hours. I tried to talk her into leaving the hooch behind, but her red-rimmed eyes just kept sweeping back and forth along the bottles lined up behind the bar.