1983, a little yellow house in Phoenix. Jack K. walks into a room thick with cigarette smoke, a hollow shell of a man who has spent years leading with his face and chasing a buzz that only led to bullet holes in his Oldsmobile and a string of DUIs.
He grew up in a house full of elephants, watching his father—a functional drunk—pass out in a chair. Jack’s own wreckage is a blood-soaked trail of boarding school abuse, shooting dope, and a family tree pruned by "accidental suicides" and alcohol-induced tragedies. He describes the noise in his head as KF radio—scrambled, loud, and impossible to turn down.
The static only quieted when he met Ray, a produce vendor who told him they had been saving him a seat. Now, Jack finds a new buzz: watching a newcomer’s glossy eyes clear up. He relies on a Higher Power to keep the noise down, trading the expensive lifestyle of lawyers and fines for the simple freedom of being a "good sober boy."
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