The aroma of good, strong coffee vied with the scent of some expensive perfumes, but the tobacco won. I was surprised at the mix of people, there a man in denim, here an impeccably suited businessman of middle age. Three older women had placed themselves in neighboring chairs, their body language signaling support and sisterhood. Designer chic and thrift shop dowdy, all seemed to have abandoned one addiction and were now desperately pursuing another, nicotine. Except for one small, dumpy woman, nervously polishing, replacing, then polishing again, her tinted eyeglasses, and a skinny guy with big ears, which he kept pulling at.What followed was awful to observe. The little woman stood up, shook and stuttered and exposed her heart, life and soul in painful, gut-wrenching honesty to these complete strangers. She had just taken Step 1. Everybody applauded, several approached her and hugged her. She was crying and smiling at the same time, but no longer shook or twitched with nerves, she seemed more peaceful, as if relieved of a big burden. It was clear she felt better, cherished and a part of things. Poor John could only mutter his name, hanging his head as he labeled himself an alcoholic, then collapsing in tears into his chair.individual perceptions of Him, would make it all better.