A Chrisrian Failure?

Kroger's Short North: I was leaving the self-scan area when I was startled.
"Hey Bill." I turned to a face I didn't recognize. While checking my groceries, I'd sort of noticed an Asian male doing the same. Nothing.
"How are you?" His inquiry startled me a second time.
"I'm great," I replied. There was something odd here. Familiar, soft angelic features, but something was off? His color!

"You look better," he said, bagging what he'd bought. I tried to be nonchalant, but he was seriously jaundiced. I'd not witnessed this before. Little question his reference was to one of my periods of excess; too much alcohol fouled up the memory. I couldn't place the face in this context. Perhaps the Engagement Center during a dry-out?
"I feel better," I said. "Things are good." Perhaps we shared time drinking. "How are you?"
"Hanging on ," he replied.
"Yea," struggling for right words as I gazed into yellow clouds that once were eyes. "Sometimes it's tough." I was looking deep into a possibility, horrified.
"When the going gets tough," his tired response pulled me back from clumsy, memory sorting. "The tough get going."

Was this what I had to look forward to? Full rage Hep C screaming its name for the world?
"See ya 'round," I threw back over my shoulder as I headed for the door, wondering the name of this younger fellow, friendly enough to call me by mine. I hated my memory failure, my confusion when confronted unexpectedly, my inability to express spontaneous emotion. I should have extended my hand. Something. I should have held him. I walked the parking lot toward Pearl Alley, my heart breaking.