Chapter 8

Even though he had a ton to do in a very limited time, he knew that taking a short break to center himself would make him more effective in the long run. That was a lesson he had learned both in prison and in rehab. And it hadn’t been an easy one, not with the temper with which he was saddled.

He slipped out the kitchen’s back door and, even though the day was gray and cold, sat down on the ground in the back, near the dumpsters. He leaned against the red brick of Haven and stretched his legs out. He groped in his jeans pocket for the battered pack of no-name smokes he knew were there and the book of matches. He lip up a cigarette and closed his eyes with pleasure and relief as the oblivion-bringing smoke filled his lungs.