The clock was broken.
That had to be it. Vin watched the second hand and it took months, literally months, to make a full loop around. He fingered the white chip, flipping it over his knuckles, a simple magician’s illusion he’d mastered years ago when he was bored and forgotten entirely until today.
“My name is Alex.”
“Hi Alex.”
God, could this get any worse? He leaned back in his chair, eyes glazed over, the chip dancing across his fingers.
“I’ve been sober for almost six months now.”
Whoop-dee-f*****g-doo. He totally didn’t want to be here. The problem with denial is even when an accusation wasn’t true; there wasn’t a good answer for it. I’m not an alcoholic. Oh, you’re just in denial. No, maybe I’m just not an alcoholic.
There wasn’t any winning the argument, Vin decided. So the
