Getting high at Rock Bottom

the other day, we - me and me office people - went to Rock Bottom. it was so low in the quality of music, i could call it Pits. for a change it had space, as compared with other discs in bombay. however, the music sucked like a toothless ho, like most other discs in bombay! in the midst of this perfect chaos, i was alone, wondering, when would this wriggling, a form of dancing bombayites have perfected in the overcrowded discs, end. while my collegues found some li'l space to do the twist, i tried to give beer a little more attention than i normally do. i don't remember doing this before. You know, like calling fosters Mr. Fosters and stuff. I'd never enjoyed Mr. Fosters company like i did that day. meanwhile, there was this guy, panting from his vigorous dancing on the floor, who dashes to my couch and slumps next to me. and every now and then he'd crouch forward and stare at my T-shirt. 'eh, hullo, it's my T not a mirror', i wanted to tell him. but my thoughts were punctuated by ricky, who yells, 'hey, ash, why is he staring at your dick?'

huh?!

i quickly grabbed Mr. fosters, and, don't remember which song it was, dashed to the floor. Rock Bottom. it was over at 3. we headed to ricky's place after that and the journey offered me the much-needed dose of metal. Black Sabath.