The path back to sanity was a convoluted one. Mike sat in the circle of folding chairs full of unhappy and uncomfortable people. He thought of the happy nights on friend’s couches that led him here. Once again his motivation towards sobriety waned.
As he sat there, the voices in his head started arguing, again. The voices of his own invention. Mike can’t write sober, or drunk. His sweet spot is from one and a half to two and a half beers. Everything else is standard boring dreck or meandering nonsense. If only he could stop on the third beer.