The shop’s door opened with a gentle “ding”. A teenage girl walked in, looking around, getting used to the cluttered dark room. On shelves, all sorts of unusual items were put for sale: a wooden pigeon, an engraved locked box, a teddy bear; unsophisticated at first, each one contained a special purpose.
“The all-knowing glasses? Is it like Wikipedia?” she stopped in front of round glasses in a golden frame.
“Nearly”, the shopkeeper replied,” but you can’t have Wikipedia transmitted directly into your brain.”
The girl laughed. She kept walking until she found a shelf with sealed empty bottles. Just looking at them already felt unusual, like nostalgia.
“Ah, that’s the Memento bottles”, the shopkeeper explained. “Once broken, it will let the moment last just a little longer for everyone involved.”
“Isn’t that too pricey for “just a little”?” she asked. “Whatever; what’s the point of it, if you can’t do anything fun?” she looked down at her dirty old shoes: she couldn’t afford not only that expensive bottle, but anything at all.
That day, she left without buying a thing.
She returned in a few months, the mischievous spark in her eyes, and asked for “invisibility.” Yes, sure, old as the world and still in working order—a black hood. That costed her all the savings she had as a kid.
A couple more years – “all-knowing glasses”’ time; apparently, Wikipedia couldn’t keep up with the mark. The price was slightly too high, but the shopkeeper agreed to lower it for a few lovely rocks she brought from the family sea trip. She looked at the Memento bottles – before exiting the shop right after; no moments to prolong, anyway.
She returned in a year, a student already, and left with a pillow that could give her a full night’s sleep in one hour. That costed her nearly all the month’s budget, plus an old child’s album with drawings.
Over the years, she was buying weightless leg plasters, headphones that can silence your own thoughts, and a watch that makes you move faster. Every visit, she looked busier. And better. Wore a well-made suit. Her old dad’s car was replaced by, at first, her own; then upgraded to a sports car and later to a new electric vehicle with a personal driver. Still, every time, she glanced at the old Memento bottles on her way out—just for a second—before leaving.
One day, she was in her sixties. She walked into the shop slowly, like it’s the first and the last time at once. No car waiting outside, and her business outfit seemed slightly untidy. Her expensive purse didn’t fit the medical folder she was carrying.
She proceeded to the counter and put everything on it: her banking cards, and then all the rings and bracelets she had. It was finally the time. Or, to put it another way, there won’t be any other time.
“I’m very sorry, miss”, the shopkeeper said slowly, “but the Memento bottles are sold out”.
