“Hey, I’ll get a scotch on the rocks…and another of whatever crazy stuff my friend is having.
“Okay, pal, you told me how you were the doctor that tried to save President Lincoln got shot, and you saved the bullet from his head.”

The stranger put his glass down, and looked into the bar mirror ahead of him. A deep sigh escaped his lips.

“Yeah. What else did I tell you?”

“Then I think you started drinking the really hard stuff, cuz you said that you were there when Garfield and McKinely were killed as well. But there is no way that you were around for those three assassinations. You don’t look over 32.”

The stranger glanced back at his new friend with half a smirk. Maybe this guy would figure it out, he thought.

“You can’t be over 150 years old, and couldn’t have been at all those presidential incidents.”

“I was, though. And I’ll tell you something else. The bullet that I saved from Lincoln was the same one that got Kennedy in ’63.”

The stranger’s drunken friend turned, “What?”

“All the presidential assassinations are connected, in a way you’d never imagine possible.”

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