Either these men had been whipped by life to the point that my refusal to be a man’s dog struck them as mental weakness. Or, and this is what kept me up some nights: maybe I am weak. Maybe my inability to eat shit, even a little, is what keeps me from moving forward. It’s different flavors of the same problem. I can’t stop smoking cigarettes. I can’t stop drinking. And I can’t even for a minute swallow my pride for the five bucks that would pay for a pack of cigarettes or a beer/shot combo.
