The Last Pint

By: submission | August 12, 2026

Author: Keith Parker

“A pint of FORGET, please.”

The bartender, sporting suspenders and a bow tie, polished a silver tap and pretended not to hear me.

I placed my fedora on the bar and repeated my order. Behind him, chrome pipes threaded through glass vats. COURAGE glowed amber. PATIENCE shimmered gold.

He sighed. “Look, Mr. Vale—”

“Eddie.”

“Eddie. You had five pints of SYMPATHY last week. Then you left without paying.”

I kept my eyes on the FORGET tap. A dry stout. “She was my daughter. We lost her eight months ago.”

“I know, Mr. Va— Eddie.”

I placed my credit chip on the bar. “I’ll pay as I go.”

He turned and hooked his thumbs beneath his suspenders. “FORGET doesn’t remove just one memory. The nanites follow connected neural pathways. Her funeral goes first. Then the hospital. Then birthdays. Eventually, they reach anyone tied to her. They work at the axon level.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Renee left because I couldn’t stop grieving.”

“She left because you stopped speaking.”

I flinched. That struck hard. “How do you know that?”

“You told us last week. The whole bar.”

I pushed my credit chip closer. “I’m tired of waking up inside the worst day of my life.”

The bartender studied me, then reached beneath the counter and produced an unlabeled bottle.

“What’s that?”

“ENDURE,” he said. “It’s new. It won’t lessen the pain.”

“What’s the use then?”

“Keeps pain from making every decision.”

I laughed without humor, then shrugged. “Whatever, man.”

He popped the cap, poured the dark ale into a pint glass, and slid it toward me.

“Cheers, I guess,” I said before taking a swig.

“I told you, it’s new. Experimental.”

I drained half the pint in one pull, leaned back, and crossed my arms waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. My daughter stayed dead and Renee remained gone.

I finished the pint, made sure we were square, left a damn good tip, and retrieved my fedora.

Outside, the evening chill stung my cheeks. I settled the hat on my head and did something I had not done since Renee left: I opened my communicator and called her.

She answered on the first ring.