The vending machine demanded a memory.

I’d only wanted a soda. But the keypad blinked:

“Payment type: Emotional Recall. Insert 1 (one) significant moment.”

I laughed. Pressed 3 for root beer.

Nothing.

“Please deposit memory now.”

The slot opened.

I reached in, hesitated, and finally offered the moment I said goodbye to my brother in the airport — the last hug, the wave, the stupid joke he made about shampoo.

The machine whirred. The root beer dropped.

I took a sip.

I couldn’t remember what shampoo was.