I used to watch through my window as the addicts gathered in the anonymous dusk outside the weekly NA meeting. It took me a long time to figure out what was going on. Downtown was always dead at night. It was mostly dead during the day, too, but at night it was a ghost town. Suddenly these hordes of people started showing up late on a particular night each week at what looked like just another vacant storefront on the next street over. One day I walked down there to see what I could see. Turns out there was a logo on the window of the place (of course it didn’t say Narcotics Anonymous). I looked it up, though, and that’s what it was. I became fascinated by watching these strangers mingle on the sidewalk under the sodium street lamps, waiting to get inside to work on their addictions together. From inside my concrete bunker, I quietly cheered them. They shared the camaraderie of addiction, a bond like no other, and I hoped they would make it.

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