Xaros sat in a booth by himself in one of the darker areas of the cantina with drink in hand.  Every time he came in he would order the same thing, the cheapest alcohol in the menu, then sit in the same spot while pretending to drink it.  Of course he never did, he despised the clouding of the mind alcohol brought on, but he had to appear normal in these turbulent times if he wished to survive.  He wasn't a Jedi, hadn't been in years, but somehow he didn't think<em>they</em>would care one way or the other.<br/><br/>A tingle shot up his spine, it was a disturbingly familiar feeling:  there were other force sensitives in close proximity.  He looked around the cantina as discretely as he could, trying to pick out anyone out of place.  Where there were Jedi there would soon be hunters, thanks to Order 66, this wasn't something he wanted to get caught up in.