Dave walks up to the bar, gives a knowing glance to the foxy chick who is serving the refreshments, and says "the usual please, maiden of the bar."
She serves up one pint of crisp, serene lager, the type of which is known to be the perfect aid for deliberating upon notions of space and time, and also gives him a free shot of whiskey... which is only to be used when the connosieur wishes to wash away the vast concepts and theorum that troubles him.
Dave drinks the pint, but leaves the whisky untouched, maybe for another day.
Dave ponders another pint... but is overcome by the notion that everything should be done in moderation.... if only he could get his theories moderated, he thought. But chance would be a fine thing.
Leaving the bar, Dave gives one last knowing glance to the barmaid, who winks back at him, and closes the door firmly behind him.
DG


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