Lick, salt, lick, shot, lime.

The almost oily taste of tequila goes down too smooth and I laugh a little as Banri growls another bad joke out around his cigarette, his shot held perched like some kind of bird between his fingers as he watches another girl sashay past, showing off too much hip. He pours me another without looking, his hands steadier than mine as I reach for the salt shaker again and suck on the skin that joins my thumb and index finger, putting a little extra gusto into the motion for the benefit of the raven-haired beauty who's been watching us from the bar. I won't be going home with her tonight, but she'll remember me tomorrow. I don't want to have to worry about disappointing. Banri convinced me that tonight is for getting wasted.

Lick, salt, lick, shot, lime.

The rhythm sinks into my bones, breaking off only so I can add a little of my own second-hand cancer to the air, my lips lingering drunkenly on the filter of my cigarette for long enough for the fucker to make another gay joke and I reach out and shove him though there's a grin on my face that echoes his. I tell him he's jealous and ask why he's staring so hard at my lips when there are girls outside the door who'll suck him off for a few bucks. He throws a spent wedge of lime at me and tells me to shut the fuck up and drink my fucking shot like he's some kind of mother hen telling me to take a vitamin. I only pay attention because I can still see straight.

Lick, salt, lick, shot, lime.

My wandering thoughts break up as the liquor smoothes their passage. I wonder what it'd be like to take a man, taking down shots of his spend like alcohol and getting drunk on his smell. I wonder why some girls like giving blow jobs so much and realize that for that one moment, no matter how in control we think we are, we've given up everything. Those ruddy red lips leaving lipstick stains on our cocks have our whole world tucked up inside, and a little flash of teeth could turn that pretty feeling into a lot of pain…it makes me want to let a girl go down on me, in a weird way…my personal scales of justice tipping just enough to give up that much more if it'd even things out.

Lick, salt, lick, shot, lime.

I stay long after Banri leaves with the girl from the bar, pouring more tequila on the tabletop than in my glass before I give it up and take the shots straight from the bottle. I forget about the limes and the salt shaker too; fuck them if they don't want to stay fucking still. There's no point in staying sober if there isn't anyone to disappoint. There's no point in heading home until Banri's kicked his 'date' out for the night.

He doesn't help pay rent, and he disappears from time to time, but fuck…he buys the tequila.