Having discharged the contents of your stomach, you get that familiar burning itch in your guts that tells you it's time for a drink. You wander bleary-eyed past rows of stalls with fairly offensive signage, hocking strange wares. In your weakened, borderline-sober state you have a hard time pushing through the sea of people crowding around you. At last, on the verge of collapse, you spot the retina-searing UltraNeon display of a Licensed DrinkyBev Vendor. You get up to the counter and sprawl across it, and are about to order your fix when you realize you seem to be nude and, as such, without your wallet.