It wasn’t easy getting to this meeting. After a four-hour train ride, I decided to walk to my hotel, nearly two miles away. It was rush hour, days after a major snowstorm. Boston was cold, and the streets were crowded with traffic barely visible beyond mounds of blackened snow. The walk was neither refreshing nor picturesque; it ended with a gauntlet of addicts outside the methadone clinic near my hotel. No sooner did I arrive in my hotel room when the phone rang. He was early, and I was spent. Everyone has a story.