December. That month of hard truths. December. That month that brings to severe light that which lays hidden for the rest of the year… the state of a man’s pocket and mind, his relationships or lack of them, whether he is going places or he is stuck in a rut… complaining and blaming everything else but himself for his present circumstances… incessant, soul-sucking complaining that turns him into a drag and an unhappy and unlucky man. The broken man. The broken man revealed in the light of December… when you meet in the whereabouts of Christmas, he asks if you can buy him a drink. Preferably, hard liquor of the cheap kind. Right there, is manifest of his lack of desire for better outcomes. I mean, this being the week that ushers in the New Year, you would expect him to ask (better yet, offer) for something that is a bit kind to his liver… a cider ale, perhaps, or a glass of sweet red. The broken man, he starts his conversation… first, he blames the government. Then, what his g...