There I was; back at the train yard.  I was sitting in the cab of my truck.  I was sweating profusely.  My trembling fingers gripped the steering wheel tight not wanting to let go.  If I let go, I would grab that goddamn bottle.  Part of me was hoping a security guard would come by and find me and put an end to this madness.  Another part of me wanted to drain that bottle of whiskey and do what I had come to do.  This was my third and last time here.  Maybe if I finished it, the peace and serenity would come this time...goddamn step 9.

   I saw my quarry.  He was the last remaining obstacle between me and my peace.  Or, at least, that's how I perceived it.  He was a hobo; a travelling man who knew my secret.  If I could just get rid of him, things would work out.  I grabbed the bottle and drank.  I drank hard and fast.  I would have to be steady to finish this.  

   I quietly got out of my truck.  I silently stalked my prey.  He was settling in for a drink himself.  I recalled the days when he and I did that together.  I missed those days sometimes.  We would build a fire and huddle around while regaling stories of our past.  Now that was my past and it had to be rectified.  I swung round and flanked my past.  I was prepared to rush him, when I stumbled and drew his suspicion.  His honed, cat-like hobo reflexes jumped to attention.  My surprise attack was foiled.  He exclaimed, "Roman!  I knew you'd be back for me.  Why are you doing this?  It's been 10 years.  You should realize we weren't talking to the police."  I laughed, "The police?  You think that's why I came back?  The police (I let out another laugh)?  I came back to get rid of the people who know the story.  If I can get rid of the storytellers, I can finish step 9.  Once all the loose ends are tied, I will have no one to make amends to."  The hobo's eyes became fixated on mine and he said, "That's why you're doing this?  You think if we're gone, you won't owe Charlie an amends?  That is insane Roman.  Killing us won't fix things for you."  I yelled, "It has too.  I never meant to kill Charlie.  We were all drunk.  It was an accident.  If you guys are all gone, then no one else will know."  The hobo replied, "You will still know Roman.  That will never change.  That's why you can't get over it."  I lost control after hearing those words.  I lunged at the hobo.  My knife entered his chest.  I could hear the air from his lung bubbling through the blood.  He fell hard, gasping for air like a fish lying on a river bank.  I cleaned the knife off on his shirt sleeve and walked back to the truck.

   The sense of relief hadn't hit me yet.  It had to come.  It just had to.  It was all over now.  I could get better.  I could live a normal life.  I threw the whiskey bottle out the window.  I sped off to my next destination.  I was a bit late.  I was sweating and still shaking but ready to face my group.  I walked in to hear, "Does anyone need a start over token?"  I announced, "Hi, my name is Roman.  I am an alcoholic, and I need a start over."