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Drinks & Confusion

George and John stepped into a restaurant, not too far from their original location. They were both shocked at how different it looked, compared to one from 1964.
They were seated promptly in a booth, right next to a half-wall.
"Quaint, isn't it?" John remarked to George, who nodded back.
"You could say that, sure."
John scanned the somewhat large menu in front of him. It felt quite off, uncanny even. He was reading text from the future, which was a mind-boggling fact to John. The dishes seemed a bit sophisticated, more complex.
"Look at this, John! They've got fine wines and fancy drinks!" George pointed out.
John frowned, flipping the menu over. George wasn't wrong at all.
"There's also vegan food, which is very interesting," John observed.
"I feel like Paul would like that. I don't know exactly why, I've just got a very strong feeling," George put in.
"He hadn't mentioned that to us, had he?" John asked.
"No, just a thought."
George took a deep breath, repressing a cough. John looked nervously at him, not knowing what to do.
The coughing was no longer able to be contained, and turned quite violent.
"Excuse me for a moment, John," George managed to say as he walked quickly off and into a restroom. He tapped his fingers on the table in a stressed manner.
George arrived back in a matter of moments, and had a tone of pallor that clung to his body. He appeared to be weaker than before.
"Is everything alright, George?"
"Well, it is now, I suppose. I guess it depends on what that means to you."
"Is that a yes or a no?"
"In all honesty, I do not feel wonderful. I wish all of this would just go away. I want to be back in time again," George sighed.
John nodded with understanding.
"We don't have to stay in here if you don't want to."
"We're starving, aren't we? Plus, I want a drink from the future," George smiled.
"As long as you're completely alright, though. We're in a place that's practically completely new. What if medicine actually devolved? What if everything actually changed for the worst?" John began to spiral mentally.
"John, you're overthinking. Breathe. Everything's fine as of right now, isn't it?" George spoke softly.
"As of right now it is, yes."
"Then don't worry."
"I-I've got a family! I've got a wife, a son, I have a proper life! I have got to get back home as soon as possible! There's nothing good around here!" John exclaimed, thoroughly panicked. His feeling was genuine.
He whipped his head around at a sudden sound.
It was a waitress, as simple as that.
"Would you like to order any drinks?"
John grasped the menu in front of him, forgetting that it was there.
A false memory appeared into his mind, one that he deemed false himself. It wasn't necessarily untrue. He decided to trust it, but was skeptical of his own thought.
"Brandy Alexander, please."
John frowned at himself, but shrugged off the feeling of peculiarity. All he wanted to do was try something new, that's all.
That's what he wanted to believe, at least, but something was nagging at him from his brain. It was almost as if he wasn't allowed to know why he ordered what he did. As John exited his state of deep contemplation, he noticed that the waitress had left.
George was nearly gazing at him in anxiousness.
"You've been looking a tad spacey, John," he stated.
"Where even are we, actually? What even is this place?" John blurted in a disoriented manner.
"Is that an exaggeration, or are you genuinely confused?" George frowned.
John appeared to stare into a void of nothingness. He looked as though he was on the brink of unconsciousness.
This was true, as John fell limp onto the floor. Shouting voices faded out and into silence.

John awoke in a relatively small room, very unlike his previous scenery. It looked like the room of a flat, of something familiar. He also noted that he was staring up into the ceiling of this room.
"Paul, we've got a bloody visitor!" a loud voice called out. It was oddly familiar.
Uncannily familiar.