Hillbilly Elegy

sitting in a circle, introducing
themselves as “Bob, and I’m an addict.”
I thought that if I participated, she might
actually get better.
At one meeting a man walked in a
few minutes late, smelling like a garbage
can. His matted hair and dirty clothes
evidenced a life on the streets, a truth he
confirmed as soon as he opened his
mouth. “My kids won’t speak to me; no
one will,” he told us. “I scrounge
together what money I can and spend it
on smack. Tonight I couldn’t find any
money or any smack, so I came in here
because it looked warm.” The organizer
asked if he’d be willing to try giving up
the drugs for more than one night, and the