“There’s many a thing I’ve seen as I wish I could unsee,” the old spacefarer sat at a table in the bar, “Space gribblies, the face of a man about to be put out the airlock without a suit and the final breaths of last living being on a dying world.”
The young man nodded eagerly.
“So tell us about these space gribblies?”
The old spacefarer smacked his lips
“Talking is thirsty work, son, thirsty work.”
Three drinks later, the young man left and the barman wiped the table.
“Not bad for one night,” he observed.“Those youngsters’ll believe anything.”