My Twelfth Stepper

DIRECTLY across the street from my second floor office, (an office that would not exist if it were not for AA) there is a back door entrance to a main street saloon. Whether it is Providence or what I know not, almost every morning as I get ready for the day's activities, I have a compulsion to look out; rarely do I fail to see a poor soul, whom I have dubbed "My Twelfth Stepper" (because of his constant reminder to me of days gone by), shuffle up to this door. Most mornings he has to hang onto the rails which have so thoughtfully been placed there; it is a long journey he has to make. . . I have made it. . .; five worn steps down, then about ten steps through the men's wash room and finally fifty agonizing steps back up to the main street level. How much easier it would be just to step in the front door on Main Street; but no. . .coming in this way, it isn't necessary to run the gauntlet of the early morning "social drinkers"; also, the light on the back bar is so much easier on the eyes.