The BAR was crowded. Music drifted from the Holo Juke Box - he didn't know the tune, but it reminded him of the old Catspaw version of Blowing in the Wind, not that you heard much psycho garage these days, at least not this far from Jupiter.
Link drifted past low tables occupied by even lower characters until he was in hailing distance of the bar. When he could attract the attention of the barkeep he would ask for a pint of Dreadnought - that would fit his mood! He drifted into a slight reverie as the queue in front of him seemed never to diminish. What were they all here for (apart from the obvious)? Who might they all be? What adventures had befallen them in these wild frontier times? Would the Dreadnought be as good as the last time he had had one? What was that itch below his left shoulder, just too far to scratch?