Now with Pretty Colors

Now with pretty colors:
 

 
From “Blastweed”:

      We arrived at the spaceport, parked the car, and strode into the bar. As we passed through the front door, Don suddenly shrieked and leapt behind me, his eyes darting wildly about the room.
       “What?” I said. As far as I could see there was nothing to fear here other than the happy hour crowd — your typical assortment of lowlifes and deadbeats who would frequent a place like this.
      Don cried out, “Aliens, man!”
       “Don,” I said. “There’s no such thing as aliens.”
       “Oh yeah?” he said, pointing to an empty chair. “What do call that?“