1965, Long Beach. A basement of a Presbyterian church filled with people who smell good and look tightly wrapped. Vince Y. sits against a concrete wall in a ripped t-shirt and filthy jeans, fresh out of the city jail. He is a Jesuit-educated intellectual convinced his case is different, watching "morons" have birthday parties with cakes and candles. He spends years "staying busy" in AA—scrubbing ashtrays and lifting chairs—while refusing the steps, only to find his alcoholism getting worse while he stayed active.
The wreckage mounts: a medical license lost to Demerol abuse in an East L.A. emergency room, a summer of supermarket-brand vodka, and a final blackout driving a stolen hearse the wrong way on the Pacific Coast Highway. He hits bottom in an $11-a-week room, failing as a drill press operator. He eventually surrenders to a "crazy" sponsor and a Higher Power, trading his judgment for a life that finally works.
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