A Miracle in the Wine

FOUR and one half years ago as I was cashiering in a super market I glanced over my register and saw a dishevelled, unshaven, ragged individual slip a bottle of wine from the shelf into his tattered black overcoat. Feeling a good deal of pity for the poor alcoholic bum, I politely stopped him as he tried to leave the store and asked him to either pay for the wine or leave it on the counter. He left it on the counter. I, myself at that time was drinking heavily almost nightly but still able to work, never believing myself an alcoholic.