“Let me quote you something here…” what the fuck was his name again? Jack? “Barkeep.” His words were beginning to slur. That was ok, it kept them in line with his thoughts.

“’The man of knowledge in our time is bowed down under a burden he never imagined he would ever have: the overproduction of truth that cannot be consumed.’ What do you think of that? Know who wrote it? Ernest … Ernest somebody, long time ago. When he says ‘our time’ he’s talking about something a lot different from ours. Mine.”

Why didn’t this bar ever change? Maybe he should look at altering something. Always the same amount of people, always the same light.

“It’s bullshit too of course. I mean, I understand what he’s trying to say. Back in the distant past, man’s search was for truth. For meaning. Then we started to find answers and it all went to shit.”

The window was always the same. Same shape, same size, same darkness and rain. When he was younger he used to make pictures in the clouds but all he saw were other people’s faces.

“Too many answers then. So what do we do? We start making shit up. Fooling each other. Maybe we were trying to lighten that burden he was talking about. Stop worrying so much about truth, about meaning.”

That wasn’t true, Adlai had never given up that search. At least, not until he found himself here.

“I mean, when you think about it, what is there to really believe in anyway? Everything can be faked, and most of it is. The news is skewed, sliced and diced into comfortable sound bites; photographs, those little snapshots of the world people used to trust so much, remember them? All airbrushed, tweaked and clipped. Nothing sadder than an edited photo. I mean, what’s the fucking point? The overproduction of truth. Bah.”

His cigarette packet was empty but another, full one appeared a moment later by his right hand. He grabbed it and ripped it open.

“That’s what people never understood. What’s the difference between VR and reality now? You can do what you want, be what you want, and when you screw up you face the consequences. No different at all. VR is just more honest.”

Someone had asked him once, why he thought it had to exist at all. What could it offer that the real world couldn’t? He couldn’t remember what his answer had been, or even if he’d had one. He had one now. VR was a playground where you learned how to live. Like the old view of life as a training ground for death, for the afterlife and the judgement yet to come.

“We managed to fuck it up though didn’t we. Always do. Can’t trust kids not to break their toys. Lead a horse to water and all that. Speaking of.”

He took another drink and resumed staring out at the rain, forming the shapes into fantasy. His hands were clutched together and he began rubbing his left ring finger, worrying something which had never been there.