"Well, like..." it was hard to describe what it was like to have a combination of data-memory and false memories, knowing they had shattered once, scrapped back together in a hurry. There were blank points in between, and parts he knew were copies, and sentiments tied to them which still felt real, to his heart.

"Like someone drew them out, scenes of your life, with colored powder," he explains with a shrug, plucking up one fallen strand of spaghetti from beside the pot.