“'I don’t know, Goddamnit!' It’s the only thing Willy’s sure of, and he keeps shouting it at the cop. In the dark room, a spotlight is burning his eyes down to the sockets. It’s a basement of sorts, the ceiling a crisscross of piping and duct work, industrial grey and dark green."   Where memory should be: a black hole. Is there any hope? A man's struggle with addiction can't be kept secret when it threatens to destroy his family.