“No,” muttered Arthur. He had raised himself on to his elbows but it didn’t seem to improve things. He slumped down again.
“No,” said Trillian, standing up, “no way at all.”
A dull hoarse gurgling sound came from the floor. It was Zaphod Beeblebrox attempting to speak. “I certainly didn’t survive,” he gurgled, “I was a total goner. Wham bang and that was it.”
“Yeah, thanks to you,” said Ford, “We didn’t stand a chance. We must have been blown to bits. Arms, legs everywhere.”
“Yeah,” said Zaphod struggling noisily to his feet.
“If the lady and gentlemen would like to order drinks…” said the green blur, hovering impatiently beside them.
“Kerpow, splat,” continued Zaphod, “instantaneously zonked into our component molecules. Hey, Ford,” he said, identifying one of the slowly solidifying blurs around him, “did you get that thing of your whole life flashing before you?”
“You got that too?” said Ford, “your whole life?”
“Yeah,” said Zaphod, “at least I assume it was mine. I spent a lot of time out of my skulls you know.”
He looked at around him at the various shapes that were at last becoming proper shapes instead of vague and wobbling shapeless shapes.
“So…” he said.
“So what?” said Ford.
“So here we are,” said Zaphod hesitantly, “lying dead…”
“Standing,” Trillian corrected him.
“Er, standing dead,” continued Zaphod, “in this desolate…”
“Restaurant,” said Arthur Dent who had got to his feet and could now, much to his surprise, see clearly. That is to say, the thing that surprised him was not that he could see, but what he could see.
“Here we are,” continued Zaphod doggedly, “standing dead in this desolate…”
“Five star…” said Trillian.
“Restaurant,” concluded Zaphod.
“Odd isn’t it?” said Ford.
“Er, yeah.”