Pit Stop

On my 25th birthday, I remember “coming to” in a drunk’s trailer house across from a hole-in-the-wall-bar, where I was able to pick up drinks on most days. The owner of the trailer was a guy who had picked me up in that bar a few days prior. He offered me drinks and a bed, and I took them. The morning of my birthday as I reached into the refrigerator to get one of his beers, I remember thinking: I wish I could find a way to stop drinking, so I never again have to reach for a drink on my birthday.