The Five Trevors You Meet In Fresno

The Bar Manager
You slip into a place called “First Impressions” early one Tuesday, right when they open. Trevor’s not normally behind the bar, typically researching “trends” in the office, but someone called in sick. As you page a leather-bound tome of classics and house-developed-riffs-on-said-classics, he offers to make you something unique. Giving him your life story, he tosses a menagerie of things into a shaker tin: tequila, sherry, an egg white, a cricket– all topped off with perfectly-chipped, large-format ice (he makes it in house). He calls it Jalisco Fever, and it’s the most perfect drink you’ve ever had. When you return the next day to repeat the magic, he’s behind the bar again but doesn’t remember you at all.

The Acting Student
You find him at Chaffee Zoo — he’s watching the sea lions, mimicking their every move. It’s for a physical acting class where he must portray an animal. He demonstrates, and you can *almost* see the beach ball. You ask him what he enjoys outside of acting. He doesn’t have an answer, but he smiles, threatening to melt the Dippin’ Dots you’re sharing. Blathering on about some book he’s reading without ever naming a title, you know it’s made up, which is a shame, because you would read it. Despite many lulls in the conversation, he never asks you a single question. Still, it’s a pleasant day, and, as he says goodbye, he walks backward directly into traffic. He doesn’t get hit by a bus, but you almost wish he had, just so it would make him more interesting. 

The Bike Mechanic
On two wheels, you’re enjoying the San Joaquin Valley air in your face until you pop a tire (lovably called a Fresno Fumble). You push your ride to Kodak Lane Bikes — Trev can pencil you in now. He makes incredibly direct eye contact and asks about the greatest mystery of your life. Despite perfectly changing the tube and utilizing a tricky wrench, he never surrenders his unblinking stare. Even in the reliably perfect Fresno weather, you’re sweating. You answer every question unencumbered by judgment. “Nice,” he says, giving you the friends and family discount. Cruising down Fulton Street, you feel finally free.

The Mayor
That’s just his name. T.T. Matthews. Both T’s stand for Trevor. 

The Spiritual Guru
He’s meditating at Forestiere Underground Gardens, surrounded by birds and forest animals. You tip-toe by, not wanting to bother him, but he senses your unease. It’s his ESP, he claims, but there are also lots of crunchy leaves underfoot. A man of either 25 or 65, he invites you to join him and shoos away a fox to make room. You’re not sure if he is trying to be friends or recruit you as a client, but, either way, you’re interested. His clients include a few Los Angeles actors, mostly Santa Barbara actors, and a ghost, also named Trevor. Feeling a chill, you ask if that client is here right now. “Always…. and never,” the guru responds before falling into a deep zen meditation. At least you hope so. All at once, you and the animals depart, suddenly becoming very interested in alibis. 

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