Georgia, winter. Harold L. wakes up covered in blood, sliced deep in the arm and stabbed in the side, with no memory of how it happened. He sits on the porch of a trailer in the "Island of Misfit Rednecks," feeling the first real weight of remorse. Then "John Barleycorn" whispers in his ear, suggesting a quart of beer and a pack of smokes to numb the fear. The noise of the popping top kills the desire to change.
A country boy from Missouri, Harold spent years as a "get-high freak," drifting from boy's homes to a high-speed chase that ended in a fatal wreck. He lived as a facade, even changing his name to hide from himself. It took a fifth DWI and a jail cell for him to drop to his knees in his underwear and surrender to a Higher Power. He moved from watching AA happen to making it happen, trading a pea-green Plymouth Duster and a life of wreckage for a passion for corrections work.
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