I've stopped pulling punches with drunks. They tell me about their drinking, and all the reasons why they drink, and I tell them it's a crock. I tell them they're not drinking because they were mistreated as a child, or because they feel guilty - they're drinking their life away because they're an alcoholic. A couple of weeks ago I sat down with a drunk and he was telling me that he had a host of serious medical problems, not the least of which was cirrhosis of the liver. I asked him if he realized that the booze was going to kill him. He nodded and said yes. I've since realized that's the wrong thing to ask. I've started asking instead if they're going to let the booze kill them. Sometimes the guys will answer the question directly, but sometimes they don't - they just go silent.

Tonight I sat down with a guy who was tanked and, for a while, we actually had a something that approximated a reasonable conversation. About halfway through it another guy sat down, a much younger guy who's trying to get off the booze, who has moved into the homeless shelter and sees this as a progressive step in his quest to gain custody of his son. Oh, for sure - that's not going to happen anytime soon - and he's going to be an emotional wreck after his court date on Monday. But as the old drunk sat there, slurring his words and slumping over, I caught the younger one's eye. "This is what it looks like," I said, "right here. This is what it's like."

He started to cry.

Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh on my part, but I'll be damned if I'm going to play nice with a couple of guys holding loaded pistols to their heads. And you know what the absolutely crazy thing is? The one guy can't stop telling me what a rock I am in his life and the other one calls me his pastor.

Go figure.