"It’s so much harder to breathe here. Even with your helmet on, each breath you draw is deep and labored, barely filling your lungs with enough oxygen. Your eyes go fuzzy, but you keep going. It’s just a few more steps until you can breathe normally again. You push the saloon doors open. You take off your suit helmet and make a promise to yourself that it was the last time you’d let yourself stay that long on the outside again. You wonder how many times you’ve told yourself that same thing. Some day you won’t make it back in. But today isn’t that day. Feels good to be able to breathe again. You need a drink. 

There’s no one tending bar. One guy’s sleeping in a booth, drink half finished, couple empty pint glasses beside him. You ding the bell and wait a minute, but no one comes to help you out. Some shithole you’ve found yourself in. You hop the bar and take a glass off the shelf. Not like anyone’s gonna stop you. You pour yourself some of whatever’s on tap. Looks cloudy, but still green. Tastes okay. You look around at the weird old junk in here. It’s mostly Wild West paraphernalia from Earth. Kitschy, kind of charming though. Feels a bit passé. There’s a warped pool table and sitting behind it is a jukebox and you make your way over. It’s covered in dust. You wonder when the last time someone touched this thing was. You turn it on, and a message comes on the screen which reads: “Do you wanna dance?” 

Well — Do you?"

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Distant Signals 042: como se DJ

Received transmissions from the outer reaches of an exquisite corpse universe

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