California, 1950s. A bar mirror makes a man look better with every drink. Hank J. spent decades as a "neat drunk," a man who could weave through traffic and fake a professional identity while his life dissolved into a series of high-interest loans. He financed twenty years of drinking through finance companies, paying a "drinking tax" in interest just to keep a roof over his head. He lived in a garage apartment near Hermosa Beach, surrounded by ten speakers and a collection of 78 records, spending his afternoons in a loop of double martinis and fantasies about a "tomorrow" that never arrived.
The wreckage was concrete: a wife who smashed his records and slashed his clothes in blackouts, and a son he could only love while intoxicated. Hank describes himself as a professional procrastinator who postponed thirty years of his life. It took hitting a bottom of total domestic destruction and a Higher Power to stop the loop.
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