“i remember you,” johnny told reilly. they were sitting on stools at the counter of carl’s coffee shop, dripping melted snow on to the floor.
“i think you mentioned that before,” said reilly.
they were alone. the counterman who had served them had disappeared.
“but i really do remember you. i remember a lot of things.”
“what’s my name?” reilly asked.
“reilly. your name is reilly.”
reilly was surprised, and showed it. “very good.”
“your name is reilly. and the lady back at the bar was estelle, and the name of the place was the 458 club.”
“well, the bar had a sign right outside, but otherwise, that’s very good, very good. i see you have an excellent memory.
“i have a good memory. and i know what’s real, i’m not crazy.”
“it’s good to know what’s real - some of the time.” reilly took a sip of his coffee.
“and packy - i remember him, he said he didn’t remember me, but i remembered him all right.”
“packy? you mean packy finn?”
“yeah.”
“well - he’s a busy man. he probably can’t remember everybody he ever met. packy finn. probably a fellow - probably - “ reilly decided not to finish his sentence.
“he owes me money,” said johnny.
“does he now? well, that’s - that’s between you and him. no doubt. no doubt.” reilly took another sip of his coffee, which was not half bad.
johnny had not touched his coffee, and was staring down into its black depths.
“i was in the war, “ said johnny,
“yes, you mentioned that before, too.”
suddenly the counterman reappeared. he ignored reilly and johnny, and went and stood at the door, staring through the glass at the snow, which continued to fall heavily.
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