Biloxi, Mississippi, and the discovery of "two hollow legs." For Jack B., alcohol was the great equalizer, a magical elixir that erased a childhood of acne, inferiority, and the isolation of library books. He traded a restless stomach for a decade of blackouts and a descent into the wreckage of Chicago. He lived in a transit neighborhood, sleeping in abandoned cars and dining on blemished produce from the back of supermarkets to save every cent for booze. He witnessed the absurdity of drunken parakeets and beagles while his own life deteriorated into a blur of ten-cent beers and bowling machines.
The bottom arrived in a run-down hotel with psychedelic DTs flashing across the ceiling. After a failed attempt at a psychiatrist and a near-fatal blackout, Jack walked three miles to a meeting, terrified by the Cadillacs in the parking lot. He found a Higher Power not in a church, but through the grit of a young people's group and service work at Attica State Prison, where he saw the ulti...
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