Vegas taught him the difference between an obsession and an addiction. Steve B. describes the manic loop of the slot machines, roulette, and the horses—the "one more time" at the ATM—only to realize that once he left the strip, the craving vanished. Alcohol was different. For Steve, the drink was a daily requirement, a necessity that left him as a "stay-at-home drinker" with mild DTs but no felonies to make him attractive in the rooms.
He paints a gritty portrait of the fellowship: a collection of the odd, the weird, and the "does not play well with others anonymous." He speaks of the paradox of a Higher Power who allows ebola and shifting continental shelves, and the wreckage of a man who becomes a human being once the alcohol is gone—subject to all the shocks that flesh is heir to. To Steve, the hardest person in the room to love is the greatest teacher, and sobriety is simply learning how to get along with people who irritate the snot out of him.
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