Hopper’s hand shook as he lifted the shot glass.
Three months sober,
the longest he’d gone.
Drink, the spirits inside him whispered.
He closed his eyes and inhaled.
The sweet fumes excited the spirits.
He brought it to his lips.
The spirits waited expectantly—
alcohol was their gateway.
Nothing felt so good to Hopper as handing over control,
enjoying the ride from the back seat.
But last time the spirits nearly killed him.
Just one drink, dammit!
Hopper lowered the glass and called his sponsor.