The Pizza Joint

On an occasional Friday night, I would order a pizza to go at a little place in town. While waiting, I would drink a beer and smoke a cigarette, gazing across the parking lot at an old modular building. I would watch people pull up in their cars, greet one another by shaking hands, hugging and laughing and then hurrying into that strange building. I knew that AA meetings were held there and I thought: “Good for them.” Who knew that a few years later I would be gazing back at that pizza place, waiting in front of that old modular building to meet up with my AA friends.