“Like the rest of us at Frank Martin’s, J.P. is first and foremost a drunk. But he’s also a chimney sweep.”

When the narrator describes J.P. (and all other rehabilitation patients, himself included) as “first and foremost a drunk,” his remark is complex, both an indictment and a mordant allusion to solidarity. Appearing in the first paragraph, this sentence sets the stage for the shame that will hound J.P. and the narrator for the rest of the story—but because the narrator then describes J.P. as a chimney sweep, he leaves room for some nuance in the identities of people living with addiction. However infinitesimally or sardonically his words acknowledge that nuance, the acknowledgment does foreshadow the narrator’s eventual openness to seeing himself more fully, which is part of his recovery.

“When this happens, my mouth dries up. It’s an effort just to swallow then. I know something’s about to happen and I want to head it off. I want to hide from it, that’s what I want to do. Just close my eyes and let it pass by, let it take the next man.”

In describing the physical and mental aspects of withdrawal, the narrator indirectly expresses his genuine fear regarding the life-or-death situation of his alcohol use disorder. His desire to “hide from it” seems an almost childlike impulse, but it is also a sign that the problem of addiction is overwhelming and too big to deal with on his own. By also desiring to “let it take the next man,” the narrator suggests that he views addiction as a zero-sum game; somebody must necessarily reap the consequences.