“It’s gone forever?”
“What’s lost?” octogenarian Fred Formby squinted. “Can’t see a thing through these damn glasses.”
“Eh. What’s that you say?” septuagenarian Arthur Arbuckle tweaked his hearing aid.
Centenarian Charlie Cartwright appeared to be dead.
Rheumy eyes and deaf ears wouldn’t help. These lads were of no use. As for Charlie…
Then a newcomer strolled in…six feet of silver-haired macho male; a sexagenarian swinging a gold-topped cane.
“Ricardo Romanovsky,” he bowed low; kissed my hand.
My libido was restored.