He knocked on the back door. Three times. As he always had. Heavily worn trouser knees. Spectacles sat at the end of an elderly nose. And eighty two well-used years under his belt.
‘Can Albert come out to play?’
Once past their teenage years, friends had begun to hesitate to open the door. Too busy to consider disrupting the events of a life heading somewhere important. Too focused on a point in the future to commit to time spent without a particular purpose.
But Albert still understood. The indescribable magnificence of the ‘make-it-up-as-you-go-along’ life. And of time spent without measurable progress.
So he continued to knock. And Albert continued to answer.
As they continued along the enchanted road of two very well-used lives.