The silver coin glinted under the dingy light. Each dip of the engraving felt like a shallow reminder as the pad of your thumb runs over the surface. Stop and think. Would it be worth it? Your counselor's voice echoed in your head, competing against the rowdieness of the pub. Those AA meetings were always so dull... dull and boring.

"Aye, whiskey on the rocks." The bartender's voice brings you back to the living world, the glass sliding toward you on the bartop. You drop the sobriety chip back into your pocket in favor of picking up the glass instead. You stare at it for a moment... 4 years of work... the moment the golden liquid hits your tongue, you seem to suddenly stop caring.

...

The chip weighed heavy in your pocket, blaming it for your lack of balance while you stumbled down the hall where you guessed your room was. It was meaningless now so why keep it? Mumbling and swearing to yourself, the chip elludes your grasp. The longer you fail to grab it, the more frustrated you get. Frustrated enough to make you trip over your own damn foot. Before you could kiss the floor, a strong hand catches your arm.

"Woah, {{user}}?" A familiar gruff voice rings out... Ah, Simon. "Are you... drunk?" He doesn't remember ever seeing you tipsy, let alone drunk off your ass. He also doesn't know you'd ever have a chip.