Alcohol, you’ve always been there.

I’m sitting at a bar in San Francisco.

I’m meeting a writer in a moo moo for his birthday.

I’m drinking alcohol.

I’m having a good time.

I was nervous, but overpriced whiskey sours have sufficiently snuffed my social inhibitions just enough to get me through conversations without the anxiety.

The stammered words. The feigned aloofness, poorly covering my fear.

The fear they’ll see me for what I am.

Another person without solutions.

Just critiques.

Alcohol.

You’ve always been there.

You were there when I swallowed a ton of aspirin because your courage was needed to get me through a suicide attempt.

You were there when my best friend destroyed his mother’s house and got sent to rehab.

You were there when I felt a connection with someone, only to forget the words that connected us.

Oh, alcohol… You’ve always been there.

Haven’t you?