Blue Bombay slid down with ease as I surveyed the milling crowd. It was Friday night, the night of dreams for lonely women and predatory males hoping to find love in some sexual liaison. Pale blue liquid juniper is my lover, passing my lips with ease and familiarity, while I canvass through my hazy vision looking for another dry tongue and vagina to share a bottle and boozy sex. My pleasure is in the blue mists of Bombay that sometimes stokes my libido and lust. But, my relief is in her liquored writhing, pretending ecstasy to wrap her lips around the spiraled phallus that we pass between us. It isn't love and barely is it lust, when alcoholic thrusts are just barely more pleasurable than trading deep pulls behind numbed lips and addled minds performing cunnilingus with Bombay Blue.