I saw Hugo today.

I had stopped by Mocha Daze on the way to rehearsals to see why I hadn't seen him at any AA meetings in a while.

He just gave me the look of someone who'd been broken-- a dog that had been kicked too many times. A drowned man.

I know that look.

I've lived that look most of my life. A lost soul not looking for redemption, feeling like I don't deserve to be saved, and somehow that I lacked the ability to find grace and truth.

Sometimes all I wanted was to be consumed by my addiction. To give in to the lost loves and worn out dreams, where each one of us acted like we didn't remember, act like we didn't care who we become.

I looked at Hugo and I didn't see the man that gave me a chance with AA, the man that helped me learn to live.

All I see is the weight of his world crushing down upon him.

I want to tell him to just pick up what self respect he has left and tell those two assholes who took the place from him to go screw themselves.

I want to say all of that, and more, but I don't.

It's not my place. My place right now is to try to keep from falling off the high wire that keeps me sober.

I'm not that strong yet.

I told him that he should go to tonight's meeting.

He just shrugged and I want to kick myself for being afraid.

Afraid that he'd drag me down with him. Mostly, scared that I'd fail a friend.

When I left him alone, I did.