What's his secret? Jack sounds like those talk show hosts who want to know his rags to riches story. He was a man living in a rundown apartment taking care of his landlady's cat just to afford rent. Tell us Tony— how did you get from there to an acceptable member of society? He can practically hear it and takes a moment to say, "Well Joan..." in his head before he answers.

"A little sarsaparilla in the morning. Nails. In my oatmeal. Latin chanting when I take my showers. —Christ. If it was uncool when I was in highschool it won't be any cooler now that I'm in my...thirties."

Dragging himself up he crawls over to the toilet though he doesn't throw up. Just rests his head on it. Probably the most unsanitory pillow in the house, but hell if he doesn't feel like a truck hit him. Followed by several deer and a little old grandma in a Volkswagon.

"If you're looking for a reason to stay alive visit her grave when you get out of here. Or buy a burger. Buy me a burger." Actually that sounds terrible and now he really is throwing up again. Everything is awful. Jailed. Next to Jack. Drunk as a skunk. Pretty sure Coor's Light is becoming one with his face. And this isn't even his rock bottom. Ughhhhh.