He hadn't originally elected to tend bar, it just happened to be the best seat in the house when he had first wandered in over a year ago. None of the occasional regular who wandered through had seemed to object to this change in whatever status quo they had adjusted themselves to and, with time, he had been entrusted with tasks as sophisticated as cleaning glasses and looking after the bottles each of the regulars set aside for themselves.
His status of wandering tourist seemed to be upgraded to bartender when the rent for both his room and the cradle his ship occupied suddenly was covered by the station. He maintained the room and adjacent controls as best he could without making any drastic changes and, when the opportunity merited, brought in something new from the outside for those who were looking for it.
Seems that none were, as he had built up a bit of a stockpile. One which he imagined would soon be put to use when the fourth new body walked through the door. Which was about four more new faces than he'd seen in about twice their number of months.
With a gentle kick of his boot the sound system fired up a jazz ensemble, sitting just low enough in the background to drown the worry of carried whispers and, without losing his place in the book propped against his knees, began the clean out the glasses not familiarly used by his primary customers.
