Melting Reality

It was a freezing cold day in New York City when Jack Jones walked into the empty Reality Café on 23d Street. He sat down at the counter and opened his novel, The Man Who Fell to Earth. It was his favorite book, and this was his third time reading it. When the bartender came over he asked for coffee, black, and returned to his book.

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It was a blazing hot day in Los Angeles when Jack Jones walked into the empty Reality Café on Wilshire Boulevard. He sat down at the counter and opened his novel, The Man Who Fell to Earth. It was his favorite book, and this was his fourth time reading it. When the bartender came over he asked for ice tea and returned to his book.

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John Brown, the bartender at the Reality Café in Chicago, stared as the man left the counter and walked out the door, with curiosity and confusion. "I must be going nuts" he thought. When that man walked in, he had thought he seemed a little odd. He was very tall, very thin, and has very, very blond hair, almost white. But, every time John had looked over at him, it had become a different shade, so very, very slightly. And now, a half hour had gone by, and the man's hair had become a bright yellow, almost golden. And, as if to only further confuse him, when he gave the man the check, it was for one ice tea. But, he was sure, he'd ordered black coffee. He remembered. He remembered handing it to him. He remembered thinking "How can anyone drink that stuff?" But, as he'd glanced at the check, there is was. Ice Tea, three fifty. He'd seen it himself. "Ice tea?" he'd said out loud "You ordered coffee." "No", said the man, "I ordered ice tea."

"I must be going crazy", he thought to himself again as he looked at the closed door.