L.A., 1940. A drag of Ten High whiskey that burns like razor blades and an initiation into a life of "midnight auto supply"—stealing whole cars to cut down on overhead. Norm A. spent decades as a professional rationalizer, driving 115 mph with the windows rolled up just to fake the image of having an air conditioner. He describes the "perpetual Maybelline look" of the barstool mirror, where a man with fifty cents of whiskey on his shirt convinces himself he's a killer and a lover until he hits the gravel parking lot with a case of "pavement rash."
From Navy prisons to a felony hit-and-run that left him dying a thousand deaths in a jail cell, Norm traces the slow grind of the alcoholic wheels. He recalls the wreckage of a marriage to a redheaded Irish woman and the "spiritual awakening" of waking up in a car with his teeth itching and his dashboard covered in vomit. Now, 19 years sober, he relies on a Higher Power and the 12 Steps to stop the performance.
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