He feels the pull of the bottle.  Dragging him to the streets on a dark snowy night when the thermometer reads below zero. 

She crouches over a smoky barrel in the back alley of some alley because her need to win the big one at the gambling tables called to her once to often.

She takes different young  men into the backseat of  cars desperately searching for something she isn't getting from her life.

He has reached his ultimately low this time.  Robbing his grandmother of her heirloom diamond ring grandpa gave her while she sleeps....he will have money for his hero, heroin as soon as he can find an open pawn shop.

She sits crying in the dark of her bedroom with a razor blade to her thigh cutting deep into the flesh to release the larger pain of child abused  past.

He sits day after day in front of the television glued to soap operas and twinkies.  He is a prisoner looking to escape his  lonliness through food.

She steps on the scale ten times in an hour, eats until she can't hold anymore, and then wretches.  Again.

He spends twelve to twenty hours a day in front of the computer.  He doesn't hear his children fighting, or the dogs barking, or see his wife crying.