PO Box 1980

Martin, a former skid-row wino, recently chaired an AA meeting I attended. I first met him more than two years ago and hated him from the beginning. Hell, he'd ridden more rails and drunk more booze than anyone I'd ever heard of! I believed his story, but he and other old-timers disgusted me. "Burnt-out old so-and-sos," I often muttered to myself. Deep inside, I really disliked them because my story was so minor compared to theirs. I was arrested and tossed into the drunk tank when I was seventeen, and that was my only brush with the law before joining AA, eleven years later.