The sun had already set when Dan reached the pub that spring evening. It was probably a bad idea to go anywhere near the place after that last AA-meeting, bu the didn’t care. It was Friday night and he desperately needed a drink. The phonecall he recieved earlier that day was still clinging to his mind, slowly turning into a blur by each bottle of beer that went through his throat, but one sentence refused to go away:
”I’m sorry, Dan, your mother passed away.”
Those words were still ringing in Dan’s ears when he woke up in my bed the next day, the ...
