“Hi, my name’s Jonathan, and I’m an alcoholic.”
Seemed sincere enough and his lips quivered when he spoke. Way more sincere than the last time I saw him: face pressed into his grimy sleeve and his left hand dangling an empty bottle of Jack Daniels.
Didn’t expect to see him here. Not even sure he recognised his own son.
The woman motioned for me to stand.
“Hey, everyone, I’m a Jonathan too,” and I looked straight at him, wondering if he appreciated his masterpiece, “and I’m an alcoholic.”
And when I sat down, he just kept giving me this goofy smile.