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Self Control


The next in a May parade of excerpts. This one is from Chapter Eleven of Taking Stock, of which I’m currently writing the first draft at an increased rate of ~4800 words per day (up from ~3700).

Pray for me, please. To whatever gods you hold sacred.

Paul comes back and asks us to help him—Casey is really drunk, and he’s in the backyard with an armful of drinking glasses, smashing them one by one against the fence. Paul’s already called a cab to come get him, but he needs our help to restrain Casey till it arrives. Cassandra watches out for the cab and we put our shoes on and head out back.

Gilbert says, “Casey, what are you doing?”

“Don’t worry. It’s under control. I’m breaking all the glasses and then I won’t be able to drink anymore.”

“You were drinking from a wine bottle earlier,” I say.

“The wine’s gone. All I have is Lambs and Coke now.”

“There are plastic cups too,” Gilbert says. “You can’t break those.”

Casey falters. “We could melt them.”

“Do you have a lighter?”

“No. Do you?”

Gilbert shakes his head.

“Damn it.”

Casey puts the glasses down on the grass. We get him into the house and onto a couch. By the time the cab gets here he’s passed out. Gilbert takes Casey’s cell phone from his pocket, looks in the Contacts, finds “Mom” and calls her. He asks for her address and says her son is on the way. Then we carry him out to the taxi.

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