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nothing.
    “Hutchinson. You really don’t remember?”
    Hutchison was sixty miles from my home, and not a place I had ever been short of one drunken trip to the state fair to see lobster boy and the man with snake scales for skin.
    I shook my head. “Where are my clothes?”
    “In my bedroom? You don’t remember that either?”
    “I don’t remember anything. Can you point me in that direction?” I asked.
    After getting dressed, finding my wallet, phone, and shoes, I called a cab. I told the cab driver after paying a $300 fare that I was never going to take another drink.
    And I had yet to break my promise.
    “Hi, my name’s Blake, and I’m addicted to everything,” I said.
    “Hi Blake,” a handful of people said in response.
    “What is sobriety? Was that it? The topic?” I asked.
    Several people nodded their heads.
    I nodded mine in confirmation and began speaking.
    “Well, I think it’s much more than abstaining from taking the first drink. It’s a state of mind as well. Sobriety, at least to me, is the art of being sober, not the act. I think it comes over the course of time, roughly at the time when we become comfortable that what it is we’re doing is exactly what we should be doing when we should be doing it. In the beginning I was abstaining, and as a matter of definition I suppose I was sober, but I wasn’t living a life of sobriety. I was a drunken idiot without a bottle in my hand. ”
    I paused and thought for a moment.
    “Now, I really think I am sober. But, to be honest, I’m a sober idiot. You know, I hoped sobering up would cause me to make more intelligent decisions, but it didn’t. Now, I’m sober, but I’m still a fucking idiot. Blake the sober idiot since September 11 th . Tell me that isn’t fucking ironic, huh? A sobriety date of nine-eleven. Well, at least I’ll never forget it. And, like I said, I’m addicted to everything, so I’m struggling with trying not to bone this gorgeous chick that came in for a tattoo the other day. For right now, I’m pretty sure I’ll keep away from my first drink, but I’m not making any promises about staying out of her pants. That’s all I’ve got,” I said.
    “Thanks Blake, glad you’re here,” a woman from across the table said.
    I nodded my head in her direction.
    She stared.
    I glanced away from her, stood, and walked to the coffee bar. As I turned away from the pot, I almost ran into her.
    “Oh shit. Sorry, I didn’t even see you,” I said.
    “I was sneaking up on you,” she said.
    “Well, you did a good job,” I said as I attempted to step around her.
    “So, want to get a cup of coffee after the meeting?” she asked as she stepped to the side.
    She was in her early forties and attractive in her own way, but not someone I would ever be interested in. Although she was probably someone I needed to be hanging out with, and also a person I could spend plenty of time with without trying to fuck her, I shook my head.
    “Sorry, I’ve got to get back to work,” I responded.
    “Well, anytime you want to, just say the word,” she said.
    “Bet on it,” I said as I stepped past her.
    Truth be known, I’d sign up for a keg stand contest before I’d have a cup of coffee with her.
    If I was going to be talking to anyone, it was going to be Riley, and for some damned reason getting her off of my mind was proving to be impossible. I’d only done one tattoo on her, and in the grand scheme of things, it was nothing. I’d done three times as many on hundreds of women without thinking about them after they had walked out of the shop.
    Riley seemed to be searching for something, but I had my doubts she even knew what it was she was trying to find. I glanced at my watch. Less than twenty-four hours and I’d see her again.
    If Tyler wasn’t going to tell me anything about her, I intended to press her hard for answers during her next session. Not fucking her was the key to maintaining my peace of mind, but that didn’t mean I