Drinking Games
"Whiskey." Han Solo told the twi'lek waitress as he placed his rear on a barstool.
He looked around, what a god forsaken placed this was. The lowlife corellian cantina looked more beat up and rundown than a jawa droid. The whole are seemed to be coated with unimaginable grime hanging around like a dark cloak of depression.
"Here you go."
He merely nodded, then, with a sigh, downed the drink all in one. "Can I get another?" He waved his empty glass at the waitress.
A couple of drinks later
"You know you can't keep doing this."
"Why not?"
"It's unhealthy."
Han just gave the stranger a look of sarcasm.
"Look kid, I know it's hard. Trust me; I've been there, many times."
"Please." Han snorted. This piece of society's backwash couldn't be going through what he was; what, with the academy and all.
"Kid, you've got everything to gain and still nothing to loose."
"Doesn't look like that now."
"Give it time." The stranger slapped him on the back, "Eventually you'll have to accept your path and go to light speed."
"What if I don't like my path?"
"Then it's obviously not your path." Han was puzzled by this man's strange words. "Sometimes," the man continued, "you gotta throw your hat on the ground, befriend a walking carpet, and rescue a princess."
"I don't understand."
"You will, you will." And with that the stranger flipped the waitress a coin, and before another word was spoken, left; leaving Han Solo to marinate with his life and its very meaning.