![]() He'd insist on driving usually, and I am so grateful that nobody got hurt from his drunken swerving. I remember squirreling away some of the plastic liquor store bags in places in the car to hide them from him because they're extra heavy duty and came in handy for when we were in the car and he started to throw up, at least I wouldn't have to clean that up, I could just whip out a bag and knot it off when he was done. ![]() Sometimes he'd decide that he was "cleaning out the car" and insist I help - most of the trash that would be in the car was the whiskey bottles and the associated paper and plastic bags that go with them from the liquor store. I was looking for them, not to prove he was drinking (I already knew how much he was drinking, he'd proudly announce it to me every day before bed to brag about how much he was "cutting back" or blame me for "making him drink too much"), but because I'd rather they went into the recycling than the trash, and plus I didn't like driving around in a car full of empty whiskey bottle of all various sizes from the 2-shot miniatures to the big heavy glass pints. Also in his pockets of his pants when doing laundry. The pockets behind the seats, underneath the front seats, down the side pockets in the doors, sometimes in the glove compartment, in the wheel well, floating around the back of his SUV, jammed in that space between the driver's seat and either the side of the car or the console in the middle, sometimes in that pocket in the middle where most people keep CDs and loose change.
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