He's shaking off the rust...

Every habit he's ever had is still there in his body, lying dormant like flowers in the desert. Given the right conditions, all his old addictions would burst into full and luxuriant bloom. But he needs you to know that he has absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which he sometimes so madly indulges. It has not been in pursuit of pleasure that he's perilled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom. There are all kinds of addicts, he would assume. We all have pain. And we all look for ways to make the pain go away - the methods he chose just happened to cause even more ruin. So as he bundles up and tries to figure out what the next incarnation of himself looks like, a smile crosses his face, for he knows that whatever might come, it will surely be a story to remember.