The vodka hits the bottom of the stomach. To anyone who is not familiar with the experience, the sensations that follow are difficult to describe. Internal contacts are made - instantaneously. Blood surges - tidally. Soul and body are fused, blasted together, radically reorganized.
Time starts to come at the drinker in big shuddering gulps.
Automatically, he reaches out for zakuski from the table - powerful pickled cucumber or garlic, a wad of brown bread, anything to gag the mouth and distract attention from the terrible nuclear changes that are occurring inside. The zakuski help. Gradually, time steadies to a trot. And a feeling of tranquillity spreads through the channels of the body and its spiritual annexes, a wonderful feeling of rest achieved after a period of great trauma and suffering. If this seems an incomprehensibly perverse way of obtaining pleasure, try this analogy.