You put a hand on the trunk of the tree. The rest of the park seems smaller somehow, like the surrounding buildings have gotten overgrown, but that just makes the foliage denser, barely penetrable. You spend the rest of the day wandering around nearby, never getting too far away from the tree. It's like when you set out on a walk but arrive at your destination sooner than you anticipated. You circumambulate until dark. You can't walk off the feeling of being kind of fucking stupid. You aren't sure why you came here, you don't know where you're going, and you don't even have a place to sleep. You burrow under a particularly dense bush near the oak tree, snagging your skin on brambles and grinding dirt into your clothes. Your sleep is deep and fitful, soaring peaks and valleys of consciousness. Sirens wake you more than once. Fear spikes when people walk by a bit too close, a bit too loud. The night settles into a fuzzier penumbra around 1 or 2 or 3 am, the sky gets a bit bluer, and you have a moment of sincere rest. You dream of a bathhouse.