(with apologies to Philip K. Dick)
Orville rubbed his eyes, exhaled, studied his reflection in the dirty mirror behind the rows of bottles. Not too destroyed, not yet. “Sure. Whiskey.”
“No whiskey. Only rice wine. I tell you already!”
“Fine. Rice wine.” He could see a couple single-malt bottles from where he was sitting, but maybe they were just for show: window-dressing to give customers the false impression that they had options. “Do you remember when I started coming in here? How long ago?”
“Long time. Regular customer!” The old man laughed, nodded. He set a clean glass down and filled it with two fingers of rice wine.
Can’t have been all that long. “You don’t remember exactly?”
“No, no. Why you no remember?” The old man didn’t wait for an answer, but continued down the bar, helping other customers.
Orville could remember, but they weren’t his memories. How long did he have left?