He was Boyd.
He worked in hospital administration.
He played hockey on the weekends sometimes.
He was twenty-nine.
Each summer he took a trip.
One year he went to Cyprus, where, by coincidence, a friend of a friend was getting married.
Boyd did not attend the wedding though he did drink with his friend Panos and the groom whose name was Eugene.
“Eugene,” Boyd said. “That’s an old-fashioned name.”
“Boyd is, too,” Panos said.
“Panos isn’t,” Boyd said.
The air was not thick with wit.
Panos was rich.
He was an heir.
He managed some of his family’s companies.
He was also a musician.
His band was called Wracked.