This really isn't your first choice of space-bar. At a glance, you can tell it's for the kind of punk who posts about the evils of capitalism online, then goes out and buys a dozen space-Funko Pops. But they serve alcohol.
You slide into a corner booth, ordering a whiskey, when a commotion erupts nearby. The bartender is arguing with an obese woman in thick green plate. She's sobbing and slurring her words, the booze obviously affecting her. When she finally quiets down enough to speak, she spots you and squints.
"Who the fuck are you looking at?" She snarls at you through her tears. "You think you're better than me just 'cause I'm drunk?" She slurs as she stands up, trying to wobble over to your table. "Well, go ahead," She hiccups, "judge me for drinking away my sorrows over my goddamn space game failing. We did everythin' right. Everythin'."
