Stocwkell

Jack was never ＂right,＂ but that’s a lot of what made him magnetic to other people. When he was younger, he was that guy that girls wanted to be around. People were drawn in by him, even later on when there wasn’t much of him left. I never understood that. He never really put a lot of energy into grooming and maintaining relationships with people. I guess when you see someone that is content spending their time alone, it creates a vacuum and people flood in like water choking a storm drain. Even as his deterioration became apparent, people threw him lifelines. The tragedy of Jack was that he always seemed so close to salvageable. If you loved him, and I did, you could never stop trying to pull him back into the lifeboat, but you just couldn’t. He was always just out of reach. It would have been easier to cut him loose if he was just an obvious lost cause. The fact that the world left him behind is no reason to ignore his existence. It’s the opposite. The fact that the world left him behind is the reason someone needs to tell his story.

Charles Bukowski’s L.A. is an alcohol-induced blackout, Irvine Welsh’s Edinburgh is a blue-faced overdose. Stockwell’s Seattle is a medically-prescribed nightmare. The down and out series takes you there and shows you the view you can only get from the gutter. Enjoy.