I’m salivating for vermouth like sand in my throat. There’s an app for that. Add to cart. Juniper berries and high tea. Click. Scroll. Oil of the rind. Transaction cleared, but I’m dying on the vine. I need dissociation. Scroll. Scroll. Too many apps to tap. Into a black hole. Stirred into the perfect dilution. Update my software. I need a golden ratio. Cross my heart and pay the fines. I am a fermented thing. Twisted onto the rim of the goblet of time.