Dan was beer, books and buffoonery. A brilliant writer, or so his friends said. His agoraphobic wife became his best excuse, but more likely he made himself scarce when a girl he secretly liked broke his heart.
I am one of many, embarking on this experiment. The idea is to write a short piece of poetic prose about 365 people I have encountered in my life, one entry per day for a year, using approximately the number of words, matching my age. I've stopped, then resumed, but I am resolved to take this to the finish line.