A young man crossed my path, strutting in front of me. He bumped into me with an oomph, and a dirty look. In his hand he clutched a clear plastic cup, filled to the brim with hot coffee. He didn’t spill a drop. The young man was tall and lean. His designer clothes hung on him. A chunky-gold necklace sparkled from his neck.

Johnny, I’ll call him that for the sake of confidentiality, turned his back on me and gulped his coffee. He chugged it as if it were luke-warm water, his leg bouncing up and down all the while. He let out a large belch and wandered over to the coffee pot for more.

It wasn’t important to Johnny that he was breaking the rules, or that coffee was meant to be sipped from a mug, slowly.

He wasn’t in the least concerned with bumping into me. Nor did he care when I mentioned to him that he was working on a relapse – that very moment.

Nope, Johnny was focused on getting one thing only. More.

Johnny isn’t unusual and he’s used to getting his way. Rules are for other people. Not him. To be fair, this isn’t entirely Johnny’s fault. He’s learned when he begs and pleads, or screams and yells and threatens to harm himself, or when he says someone else might harm him – he gets what he wants. He doesn’t see it as manipulation. In fact, he doesn’t see it , at all.

Johnny has lost the ability to emphasize with anyone. He belongs to addiction, and his master is greedy.

As Johnny and I talk – well me talking and Johnny rolling his eyes is more like it – his facial expressions and body language change from one of insolence, to anger, to boredom and finally, smug.

He sneers holding up his plastic cup and says. “Yeah, I’m listening” as he drains his cup yet again.

Johnny’s lip lifts as he heads over to the coffee pot about to fill his cup for the…I’m not sure? He could have had ten cups before I found him there.

I watch his retreating back. He has a swagger. He thinks he’s pulled one over on me.

Poor Johnny, the only one that got fooled, was him.

Addiction. Know your enemy.

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