Alcohol is the devil.

Eddie’s been a bud for many months.  Young man.  Short, skinny, well-groomed, well-mannered, well-spoken, well-behaved; uses methadone.  Has a couple kids.

Thursday night, 17:30, I go into the smoke pit for my last smoke before supper; and he’s there.  It is very, very late to be coming in; the last available bunk got assigned long ago; and he’s drunk.  I’ve never seen him drunk before.  I had heard that he also came in the night before, at the same time and in the same condition.

He’s got no stuff.  That’s a bad sign.

They can’t admit him, and they tell him to leave.  He refuses.

Insight:  he reckons he’s better off tonight in the lockup, than in any other shelter.  I know; I’ve been in that lockup.  But in the long run, once he gets out?  He’s about to get barred out of here and, if that happens, can never come back.

Under the influence, people play high stakes poker.

I’ve seen many men refuse to leave.  Never ever before have I seen a white man do it.

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They call the police and order us to clear the smoke pit.

I caught some feelings behind this.

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