Tale of the Wandering Wonderer
He was a wanderer.
And a wonderer.
He would put his ear to the ground and his finger in the air in order to decide which direction to head in next.
He wrote stories in his journal, and when the journal was full, he’d place it on a park bench for someone to find, and perhaps enjoy.
No one knew he was rich.
He’d spend one night a week in a five star hotel, and bask in the luxury, only to hit the road again the next day.
He never grew tired of his wanderlust, but he did miss having friends.
The silence in his head was golden.
Until it got to be too much.
When that happened, he’d find a hot, sweaty bar and buy round for the house, ultimately taking home the best looking waitress after closing time.
It was a strange life, and he embraced it.
Next stop – tomorrow.