Certain perks come with being in a new city and not knowing folks, like waking to an agenda-less weekend morning. If I made it to the farmers market, or a dusty aisle of the used bookstore, great, but as I departed my front step, I was determined to let twenty bucks and the wind be my compass, not a prescribed endpoint.

Forsyth Park is a stones throw from my apartment, and shares its south side with an eclectic coffee shop and ever-lively scene. I strolled that way, enjoying a cookie, cup of tea and loose read of the NY Times, before returning to the park. Benches are spread throughout, and given that temperatures were already blazing, it was a shaded, less noticeable one that drew me.

“Mind if I share your bench?”
“Not at all, just people watching. Name’s Laverne,” he said with an outstretched arm.
“Abbie. Nice to meet you.”