Anonymous
by Taurenelle
We concealed our names, and revealed our addictions, and clung to community as we ascended rock bottom. Punctuating our stories with regretful stares, receiving obligatory sitting ovations. Each of us nodded and cried and gradually drank our instant coffee.
Except for the man in the vintage coat, who silently judged us with cold, dry eyes. He gave no name and told no tale and only moved to scratch the graveyard of track marks lining his pale forearm.
A broken fixture, like the radiator he sat on.
A cracked mirror, like the one he passed through after the serenity prayer.
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