<strong>Name: </strong>Jack Harth<br/><strong>Time: </strong>About eight months ago<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Elena<br/><br/>She hadn't been drinking. Was it something else she was doing, then? Or was she like this exactly because she hadn't been drinking, and desperately needed it? He wasn't sure, but for now, he just debates with himself on what he can do, and what he should do.<br/><br/><strong>"Everybody needs help now and again. But you can't run from your problems; you'll just die tired. Booze only makes it feel better, because it provides relief; but once it wears off, you're back to the same position you were in, and chances are, it's gotten worse. When you get an infected wound, for instance, you can't pussy-foot around with getting it fixed; otherwise, you'll get gangrene, eventually, and need to be amputated. Or you'll just die from system shock. And sure, that's a physical problem, and I'm skimping out on details, but you can apply it fairly well as a metaphor to other types of problems, too."<br/><br/>"The only true relief that exists in this world is solving the problem. Some times, we can't do that on our own, and that's what friends are for. Good ones, at any rate. The ones that matter." </strong>He pauses to take a drink of his soda.<strong>"And as they say, the first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have one. And if you do have one, I'd be glad to do what I can to help."</strong>