As the evening came, tempature dropped, marking the arrival of fall. John entered the house, the sound of his keys clicking. With a thud, his boots made contact with the wooden floor, he exhaled deeply.

He removed his bucket hat and left it on the kitchen counter. Making his way to the back porch, he discovered his partner seated at a chair, a glass of whiskey on the table beside them as they strummed the guitar. Leaning against the door frame, he crossed his arms, observing and listening.