“Ess Eff Ess! Sober for Six!” They cheered, and he drank it in. Their celebration was grandiose, intoxicating, and in his honor. In the honor of his success. It was wonderful, and he reveled in the present – but with every joyous exclamation he became less and less certain of his balance, his direction, his resolve. The past snuck back into his mind. He felt it hanging over him, reminding him of his binges, the strangers’ beds, the overnight jail cells, the friends who abandoned him – for abandoning them.

Six years it had taken him to come to terms with those mistakes, and now they were once again looming over him, ready to bounce him out of this happy-go-lucky club. Would it always be like this? The first year was a good start. The second? Twice as good as the first. Three is just a magic number! Four? It’s so close to five. Five is that basic benchmark – if I can do five, I can do however many I want. But six? Six is the drink you stop counting. Had enough?

No.

Pour me another one, barkeep.