the drive to Natick: 'My name's Mike'

Irony's reflex caught in the act, en route to help. Hal is driving fifty miles to a recovery meeting because his head has become unbearable — a genuine, desperate errand toward sincerity — and what he rehearses on the way is a false name. Before he's even arrived at the fellowship whose entire first principle is honest self-disclosure, the anonymity-reflex has him practicing concealment into the rearview, workshopping "Mike" as protective cover. It's the perfect miniature of the ironist's bind: the self-protective distancing move fires automatically even when the self is reaching for the one thing that might save it. He wants to be seen and heard, and his first preparation is to arrive disguised.