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Summary
"Hello, I’m Charles, and I’m an alcoholic."
"Hello, Charles," his new friends had responded indifferently. By some strange irony, there were exactly five of them—tired, lost souls. Charles understands that he is one of them now, yet he accepts whatever kinship, however unpleasant, is offered.
Her hair was a deep, fiery red, curling at the nape of her neck, and her eyes—large but unmistakably feminine—were almost too intense. The shape of her lips was too familiar, so much so that Charles, without meaning to, tightened his grip on her fragile hand.