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July 1964

I Slipped Back to Prison

It has been about a month now since you went to your last AA meeting. . .you think you have it all figured out.

AS you step through the open door and hesitate in the dim light, the fetid odor of stale beer and wine burns your nostrils. It's always the same, a stench you imagine will linger long after the place is gone and the last dust particles have finally settled. In one quick glance your eyes photograph the small interior; the scene hasn't changed.


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