The bus station was deserted and hollow, the stale smell of old urine and dirt permeating the air. Curt sat curled up on the bench, just waiting for nothing. His guitar was pressed against his chest, the case cold against his already cooling skin.

He only had enough money to get to Detroit. It wasn't far enough away, but it would have to do. Tomorrow his new life would begin, without ties, without hatred, without family, without money, without love.

Curt shifted and he heard his joints pop. He'd gotten old so quickly. His bones felt tired, worse than any day in the hospital. He'd go back there in a minute, go back and disappear into the haze of sleeping pills and pain pills, of meprobamate, morphine, Novopoxide, Valium, codeine. Lose himself and his sin in electric shocks, and maybe find love again.

In the end, he just sat there, staring into the murky light breaking into the cavernous station. The announcer shouted out his bus number and Curt rose wearily, swinging his guitar over his shoulder. Maybe Detroit was far enough.

It would have to be.

A/N: Sorry the end took me SOOO long to get up. I've been really busy, not working and failing math. Anyway, I started a sequel a long time ago, but I don't know if I'm gonna continue. Please review and let me know if you want me to.