I think I have a problem with alcohol. Or maybe not. It feels more like an abusive relationship, very passionate. I love stepping out into the night city, grabbing a bottle of beer—or better yet, wine—putting on some rock ’n’ roll track in my headphones, psychedelic rock, stoner, something slow, dragging, ******, like blood in the neck. And then drifting along the city, listening to that music, drinking. And later, jumping into some bar, or club, or concert, adventures start to find me themselves. And the scariest part is that there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m 29.