“Relax, Nicholas. It’s not like I died or anything,” Red took a swig from the bottle wrapped up in a brown paper bag. The vodka went down warm, not that Red could taste it anymore. For him, it was like drinking water.

               “But you could’ve died.” Nick knelt next to Red, an odd thing to see on Hyde Street in the San Francisco Tenderloin District. He was tan, a bizarre rarity for the Bay Area. And sharp-dressed. An Armani three-piece suit, silk tie, and polished black leather boots. Red, on the other hand, smelled like cabbage, musty old garbage, urine, and body odor. “Dad. You can come home with me anytime. You don’t have to stay,” he pointed to the street, “out here. Jenny and I would be happy to have you. At least come home and get cleaned up.”

               Red glared at his son through his bloodshot eyes. “If I wanted to come live with you.” He took another drink from the bottle. “But only if I gave up this, right?” He shook the brown bag in his boy’s face. “That would be one of several conditions, would it not?”

               “Dad.” Nick sighed. “It’s not like that. But, yes. Getting sober would be a part of it. And you can’t quit cold turkey. Do that? And you could die. I’m just glad I found you before you decided to quit again. Going through alcohol withdrawal can kill you. And Dad?” Nick pleaded, “You did almost die. If it wasn’t for the EMTs, you would have.”

               “Those guys don’t know nothin’ kiddo. They’re hacks. Wannabe doctors who couldn’t hack real medicine.” He tried to pass the bottle to Nick, which was declined.  

               “Dad,” Nick said, reaching out for his hand, “they saved your life.”

               Red knocked Nick’s hand away. “I don’t need nothing from you,” Red spat, squeezing the bottle wrapped in the paper bag.  

               “Why’d you throw away everything, Dad? I don’t understand. You had it all.”

               “Did I kiddo?”

               “You had a solid career.”

               “Did I? I worked my ass off so your Mother could have not one, not two, but three affairs. Did you know that she slept with your high school English teacher?”

               “Mr. Schwartz? No, Dad. The alcohol has eaten one too many of your brain cells. That can’t be right. Everyone knew Mr. Schwartz was gay.”

               “Oh yeah? What was it Schwartz drove? Some ridiculous kind of car. Convertible something-or-other.” Red tipped the bottle back, collecting his thoughts. “Oh yeah! A green Karmann Ghia!”

               “No. Schwartz drove a yellow Volkswagen bug. The Karmann Ghia was driven by Mr. Freeman, our principal.”

               “Still a ridiculous car.”

               Nick shook his head. “Yeah. I guess so, Dad.”

               “So I guess we’ll count that as four, not three. Richard Freeman. Never liked that man. Always struck me as a kissass. And that career you say I had? The one that allowed you to go to the best private school? And an Ivy League college? That career? The one that created so much stress in my life that I had to drink myself to sleep every night? That one?”

               “Dad.” Nick pulled a smoke out of his suit pocket and lit it. He offered one to Red. “The hospital didn’t want you to resign. You did that all on your own.” Red took the smoke from Nick.

               “You know these things will kill you, right, kiddo?” Before he handed it back to Nick, Red waved it in his face, smiling. “I don’t know if you know, but Ms. Hepplewhite was working to force me off the board.”

               “But you were the chairman, weren’t you?”

               “Yes, but if the board thinks you are a risk?” Red slashed his neck with a finger. “That’s it. The end of your career.”

               Nick blew a smoke ring and took another drag. “She didn’t have enough support. She still doesn’t, from what I understand.”