He enjoyed sketching, especially faces.
It was only a hobby, but he spent a lot of time sitting at his small desk drawing and listening to classical music, when not working in the town’s music store. Although he lived alone in his small apartment, he often had visits from his old school friend. He was also in his early twenties, but lived a far more active social life. He knew that his friend was a loner and a bit of an oddball, if truth was told. Despite this, he enjoyed calling in and spending time with the budding artist. He had always admired his talent, having none of it himself. Seeing his friend’s latest work was something he looked forward to. On this occasion, he found his friend struggling with his latest creation. They both sat, looking down at the pencilled image.
The sketcher was saying, “I’m finding it difficult to get his real likeness. I can never get the face right. This is an early attempt that I keep coming back to.”
His friend asked, “Who is he?”
“Tom. Well, that’s what I call him. I don’t think he likes me calling him that, but it’s become a bit of a joke between us.”
“Ah! This would be the friend you’ve mentioned from time to time. A great musician, you reckon.”
“Yes, and a great deal more, really.”
“So, what so hard about finishing this one?”
“Because it’s always dark when we meet up for a chat.”
“Dark?”
“Yes. Well, it’s only late at night when he visits.”
The other frowned. He was becoming aware of his friend’s weird side coming out. He’d never been told about any late-night visitor. He decided not to push the point and let it drop. He went back to studying the crude outlines of the man’s face. It was then that he noticed the numbers. Pleased that he could change the subject, he asked, “These numbers?”
“What?”
“1751. What’s that about?”
“Oh. That; yes, that’s when the diabetes finally took him.”