Please don't go, Jack.

My sister's words echo in my mind as I shove my hands deeper into my coat pockets.

The wool is poor protection against the frigid night air that clogs the lonely streets.

The street lamps in the occasional passing car are my only guide in the dark.

But I've pounded the familiar pavement for most of my life.

There is not an alley or shortcut that I don't know about.

Retracing the familiar hidden routes and places to hide doesn't stop the words from echoing

in my head.

Linda's words hurt, reminding me so much of Ma's before she passed. I love my sister. Hell, I love her entire family.

Even her prick of a husband I can't help but admire in some ways.

Sure, he hates my guts, but he's kind to my sister, pays the bills on time,

and make sure my nephews and my niece get fed.

Maybe they're not living

in a mansion. Their lifestyle isn't the type that everyone's clamoring for on social media.

But their kids are never lacking for anything they need, and they're managing to keep a roof

over their heads while holding down two jobs. That's a lot more than most people can say. Hell, a lot more than I can say.

I know she means well. It's why their couch is always open to me.

It's why there's always an extra meal at the dinner table, even with my brother-in-law glaring the whole time.

She doesn't know why I can't do what everyone else does. Find a steady nine to five and make an

honest buck. I probably would be making the same money I'm pulling in now, but I wouldn't have to

spend half my life in the can. Shit, maybe I'd even have health insurance. I don't know what to tell

her. Lots of guys will spin you different yarns on

...