From when Jefferson was a teenager to being in his late twenties, he had some hardcore substance issues. Rio and the brith of his son, plus rehab, helped curb the rampant habits.

However, he doesn’t particularly enjoy the meetings that followed. Of course he’ll share, give advice, be a sponsor for the occasional fresh-out-of-college addict, but he doesn’t need them to be sober. They’re like an activity to get him out of the apartment outside of work.

Another day, another meeting. After getting fed up by the same, blotchy, sorority recovery tale, he steps outside for a break. He searches his pockets, rummaging around for his carton of Newports. When he notices another member, he approaches them.

“Spare a square?” Jefferson asks while he leans against the building, requesting a cigarette.