At the bar, Zaphod was rapidly becoming as tired as a newt. His heads knocked together and his smiles were coming out of synch. He was miserably happy.
“Zaphod,” said Ford, “whilst you’re still capable of speech, would you care to tell me what the photon happened? Where have you been? Where have we been? Small matter, but I’d like it cleared up.”
Zaphod’s left head sobered up, leaving his right to sink further into the obscurity of drink.
“Yeah,” he said, “I’ve been around. They want me to find the man who rules the Universe, but I don’t care to meet him. I believe the man can’t cook.”
His left head watched his right head saying this and then nodded.
“True,” it said, “have another drink.”
Ford had another Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, the drink which has been described as the alcoholic equivalent of a mugging – expensive and bad for the head. Whatever had happened, Ford decided, he didn’t really care too much.
“Listen Ford,” said Zaphod, “everything’s cool and froody.”
“You mean everything’s under control.”
“No,” said Zaphod, “I do not mean everything’s under control. That would not be cool and froody. If you want to know what happened let’s just say I had the whole situation in my pocket. OK?”
Ford shrugged.
Zaphod giggled into his drink. It frothed up over the side of the glass and started to eat its way into the marble bar top.
A wild-skinned sky-gypsy approached them and played electric violin at them until Zaphod gave him a lot of money and he agreed to go away again.
The gypsy approached Arthur and Trillian sitting in another part of the bar.
“I don’t know what this place is,” said Arthur, “but I think it gives me the creeps.”
“Have another drink,” said Trillian, “Enjoy yourself.”
“Which?” said Arthur, “the two are mutually exclusive.”
“Poor Arthur, you’re not really cut out for this life are you?”
“You call this life?”
“You’re beginning to sound like Marvin.”
“Marvin’s the clearest thinker I know. How do you think we make this violinist go away?”
The waiter approached.
“Your table is ready,” he said.