May 2013

The Dreaded Job of Making Coffee

An old-timer remembers how washing cups taught him to laugh again

When AA found me in that prison cell, I did not consider myself an alcoholic. After all, I knew what an alcoholic was: my father was one. I remember thinking the guy across the bar was, the guy at the party was, and, at the end, it was the bum on the other side of the river. It was never me, always the other guy.

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