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I’m sitting across the table from a kind British man in a crowded fake Irish pub style bar and I hear myself say, “A lot of it, well, it’s just not terribly attractive to talk about. Lots of vomiting, doing stupid things.”
He already knows about the Steak ‘n Shake mat, and that is pretty much the best story I have about stealing things. I tell him about the short period of time I was stealing discarded bricks from places and how they got heavy moving from place to place all the time. Great for doorstops, though, really great.
“I think I just felt that alcohol was a way to cope, a way for me to get out of my shell. After that, I used the internet,” I tell him.
“But you don’t need any of that anymore.”
“No, not anymore.” I look down at my beer. No. I didn’t need it anymore.
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Of Folly And Of Vice 