Still Drifting
## Act I The bottle was plastic. Blue, dented, the kind you'd buy at a gas station for a dollar and fill with beer. Mike Kowalski found it on the shore of the abandoned marina where the Cuyahoga River met the lake, and he picked it up out of habit more than anything else. His hands were shaking—not from withdrawal, not anymore, he'd been sober for three weeks, just from the cold. Ohio in...
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