Grapevine Online Exclusives
It Gets Worse
It was hard to imagine his bottom getting any lower—but then there was the case of the Palmetto bug in his glass of sweet vermouth
The year 1986 spelled the end to my professional alcoholism. I say “professional,” because that is exactly what I was—a pro. There wasn’t too much anyone could teach me about drinking. I knew it all. This knowledge, coupled with four DUIs, brought me to Key West, a city where a car is actually a liability; where the cops are lenient; and where you won’t freeze to death if you pass out on someone’s lawn after a night at Captain Tony’s.
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