The setting: A spaceport bar somewhere on the planet of Viking. The thick smell of alcohol and smoke stings your nostrils as you enter the bar. Through the dimly lit haze you make out the slumped figures of burly patrons sipping their drinks. As you find a stool at the counter a few unshaven fellows grunt their disaproval at your presence. However, there is one who does not seem to mind your presence. He is a bright eyed middle aged man with a clean shaven face and full head of red hair. He glances your way and decides to introduce himself. You find yourself listening to his long string of sentences without getting a word in edgewise.
"Heey, the name's Toby Grisler, me mates just call me Griz. You ain't from around here are ya? Didn't think so. Else you would've recognized me name. Aye, I'm a viper pilot. I'm a major player in the Galaxy Racing Netword here on Tichel. If you be gambling in these parts you best put your wager on me, the red viper. I've been racing them things ever since my arms grew long enough to reach the controls. Every now and then I run in with a bit of bad luck but hey, who doesn't? I've wrecked quite a few racers, more than my fair share. But, everyone around her knows I'm the top racer. Aye, that they do, so I'm always findin' a supporter who'll pitch in for a new craft. They being pretty easy to come by around here. Well, would you look at the chrono there! I best be going. They'll have finished fixing my baby in the hanger by now sure thing. Can't keep em waitin'. So long pal! "
As you gaze after the fellow another more passive bar patron slides onto a stool on your left. He glances after the retreating viper pilot and begins.
"Poor fellow. Always coming in here telling stories to any ear that'd listen to him. All that shine he just jabbed ya about racing... space dust. Ain't even been to a race. Yesterday he was the cap'n of a large trading fleet! Real story is: he had a nice average job as a courier and a good little wife too. He took to drink he did. Never seen em' sober since I've met em'. Courier company caught em' drunk on a cargo run once and that was the end of that. Kaplutz. A few weeks later his wife left em' too. Poor fellow, doesn't do much no more 'sides come her to get his fill. I wonder that he doesn't run dry on credits. An all to comen story these days. You looks like ya got a good head on ya' shoulders. Keep it there. Don't go getting lost in the drink or nothin' else. It'll be your ruin, that's for sure. "
With an over zealous slap on the back your new aquantance lumbers of to a far corner of the bar and you are left with your thoughts... and your drink.