Sept 3rd

He spun aimlessly up the curving boulevard. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but knew he'd recognize it when he saw it. He did. Shading an area larger than his new apartment, its branches weaving their way to a hundred possibilities, sat a gnarled oak.
He'd never been in this park before; he’d never been in this city. And still he pointed his bars towards an old friend and nestled against its trunk. The folds of the rough bark jabbed his ribs, but he didn’t mind.

He started to write. He wrote about nothing in particular, simply watched as the ink bleed into the crisp paper. He smiled. The evening breeze rustled his hair as he peered up into the tangle of branches. His smile widened at the thought of introducing this old friend to the many new ones he’d strive to make over the coming year.
A few hundred words ticked passed. Finally, with the oak prodding him into motion, he scribbled a few final sentences and stood, leaving the last line unwritten, to be finished later…