** * *
“Be careful with that box,
I don’t want you breaking a fingernail or anything.”
“Fuck off,” Trevor said
before hefting the large carton of LPs.
It was Saturday morning.
Trevor had offered to help Paul salvage what he could from his
wrecked house.
“Sorry.” Paul was smiling,
as was Trevor.
“When you said you had a
record collection, I didn’t think we were talking about a—” Trevor
groped for the right word. “A whole bloody vinyl
archive.”
“One of my few
vices.”
Trevor set the box in the
boot of Paul’s car and raised an eyebrow. Paul put down his own
box. “And what might these other vices be? Do any of these boxes
contain, uh, leather pants, motorcycle jackets or—”
Paul laughed. “Are we
talking about my vices or yours?”
Trevor had the good grace
to look sheepish. “A girl can dream.”
“Come on, there’s loads
more inside.” Paul turned away and went back into the
house.
Trevor stared after him.
At times he wasn’t sure what Paul was thinking. The bloke could