"Illusions are Closer than They Appear"

    Everything that alcohol did to me in the end seemed impossible. Like some magic trick. Wait. How'd he do that?

   Alcohol, the magician, pulled optimism out of my ear like a gold coin which then vanished in his hand. Wait a minute. How'd he do that? Delusional reality?

   Mirrors, Baby, mirrors.    Alcohol, the magician. How'd he do that? Money, poof. Up in smoke. Smoke and mirrors. Smoke disappears. Mirrors disappear. I disappear.     There used to be a time when it felt like there was a right way to drink and drug.

   How did that time disappear? When did time disappear?

   Fuck.

(Vatchi):
(Speechless, shuffles his feet)　

from All Drinking Aside (Rough Draft, Chapter 60)