As the liquid rushes cool and kind down your throat, you watch your room. The starlight glinting of the scuffed and familiar metal cupboards and sinking into the ragged rug stretched thin across the humming floor brings with it a strong sense of mundane pleasure, the kind you only get in safety. Slowly the stars revolve against glass thicker than the average arm until the soft lights of the nearby port add a red and green glint to the slicing silver beams.

The comforting weight of food, barely fresher than the tray it was stored in now pressing in your gut, you settle into the padded curves of your Captain’s chair. Ha! Captain. If there’s a Captain in the woods and there is no crew to hear them speak, is there still a captain? Sim Coffee delicately balanced of the swish of your dashboard you consult todays manifest.