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April 1974

A World Full of Other People

Our own problems and irritations can make us believe we are something special

I DID NOT want to attend a meeting. It had been a bad day. Sobriety was looking as if it might not be all it was cracked up to be. Some of my old feelings were rearing their ugly heads. The subway ride home after work was always less than a joy. It was only thirty-five minutes long, but it offended me this night. My back ached, my feet hurt, and my lowly job seemed dismal. Serenity? Hell, no! I had none that night after my bout with billions of mad New Yorkers in our frantic underground.

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