"My name's Tom and I'm an alcoholic."
"Hi Tom." The miserable, off tune choir sang to him as he sat down on the folding chair, people without jobs or families that didn't bathe or eat properly sat next to him in a circle, with one thin, tight lipped woman holding a clipboard in the middle.
Her hair was perfectly made into a bun, clothes impeccably tidy and clean with spare pens in her breast pocket and not a single swear word drawn on her clipboard, writing what Tom didn't know, or particularly want to know.
"Anything else to add, Mister Ridge?" Tom thoughtfully put his finger to his lips for a moment and pursed them, then shook his head.