Safety The barman reeled for a moment, hit by a shocking, incomprehensible sense of distance. He didn't know what it meant, but he looked at Ford Prefect with a new sense of respect, almost awe.
"Are you serious, sir?" He said in a small whisper which had the effect of silencing the pub, "You think the world's going to end?"
"Yes," said Ford.
"But, this afternoon?"
Ford had recovered himself. He was at his flippest.
"Yes," he said gaily, "in less that two minutes I would estimate."
The barman couldn't believe this conversation he was having, but couldn't believe the sensation he had just had either.
"Isn't there anything we can do about it then?" he said.
"No, nothing," said Ford, stuffing the peanuts into his pocket.
Someone in the hushed bar laughed raucously at how stupid everyone had become. The man sitting next to Ford was a bit sozzled by now. His eyes weaved their way up to Ford.
"I thought," he said, "that if the world was going to end we were meant to lie down or put a paper bag over our head or something."
"If you like, yes," said Ford.
'Will that help?" asked the barman.
"No," said Ford and gave him a friendly smile. "Excuse me," he said, "I've got to go." With a wave he left.
The barman cleared his throat. He heard himself say:
"Last orders please."
[from: The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy by Douglas Adams]

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