A man walks into a bar...

[Walking Zombee]

But it wasn't any bar, a bar he visited often, tucked neatly into an alley. Dimly-lit, blocked from the noise of the car honks and chatter outside. The bartender had his back facing the stranger, watching the static on the TV as he mindlessly wiped a mug in large circles.

Then man walked up to the bar, and took a seat, the two seats on either side of him were empty, but not dusty, as if they had been sit in before, recently most likely. He turned to the bartender, waitied for a few seconds, and knocked on the table in front of him.

The bartender turned, his hazel eyes looking at the stranger, yet still almost looking...somweher else, somwehere behind the stranger, watching the bell on the door, right above the stranger's head. "So? What'll it be?" The bartender said, still looking at the bell.

"What'll it be?" the man responds incredulously, his eyes glassing over. He glances over the bartender's shoulder to the TV, behind the static showed a snowy image of a football game, as if it mattered. Summoning the words, the man lays both palms flat upon the bar. "I'll tell you what it'll be," the man says. "I want my life back. I want to be under that TV with the person I love. I want the eight years I invested erased from memory. I want to know why she left. I want answers."

[Walking Zombee]

The bartender opened his eyes wide, his hands opened up slowly. The mug and the towel he held in his hands both fell to the newly polished, oak wood floor. The mug shattered with a loud, ear-piercing crack as the bartdnder turned his head down to the stranger's face is cracked, almost robotic motions, shocked. "Y-you...you remembered."

The stranger slammed both of his palms down onto the table, a shudder going across it as the mugs stationed in front of each seat fell down, two rolling onto the ground with another crack. He slowly blinked his eyes, and stared at the bartender. "Remember...what..?"

The bartender quickly looked another the table, pressing a button on the black phone he had in his pocket. Like something out of a cartoon, the bar began to change, the seats flipping into better, more high tech versions, floating lounge chairs. The table switched to a smooth, blue table with black lines running across it.