and gleaming skin, the twinkled glint in his eye, and two rows of pristine pebbles that glistened in the light. Though he was about Sandy’s age, time had treated him better, and on each occasion that Sandy saw him, he seemed to grow only in distinction, looking more like an timeless crooner, or veteran actor as he aged, he could’ve retaken his fame at any moment and few would’ve noticed the delay.
Trevor stood from his seat, and shot the cuffs of his teal cotton jacket. He wore a white shirt, the lapels draped open, three buttons down, to reveal a cherry tinged chest, and a mat of white hair. He embraced his old friend with wide and eager arms and groaned a happy sigh. Behind the hugging pair, Sandy’s meagre audience finally shuffled out. Though Sandy didn’t notice, he was too lost in his reunion to care. The two friends held each other for some time, prolonged by their absence, before Trevor pulled away, and with a serious and solemn gaze, asked the question all old friends always ask each other.
How’s your health, mate?
He asked in part out of concern, but mostly because there was nothing else to ask.
Not bad, mate, not bad – you well?
I’m good, mate – I’m good.
He replied emphatically.
It’s been too long, mate.
Trevor changed his tone, and replied with downcast eyes.
It has, mate… it has.
A decade ago, Trevor Hobart was a well-known name – perhaps you may remember him? His fame came from