Alone Again Or - The Damned -

He could hear the faint, ghostly echo of a Spanish guitar—the same melody that had played when he first saw her across the room. Back then, the floor was filled with "empty faces," people he had journeyed past in a hundred different cities, but she had been the only one who seemed real. He had "walked out of the silver mine" of his youth, his pockets full of sand and dreams, thinking he’d finally found a reason to stay.

As he stepped out into the dark street, the horn section of his memory flared—bright, triumphant, and slightly mocking. He could have loved a thousand more, he supposed. But for now, being alone again was the only thing that felt like home. Alone Again Or - The Damned

Julian didn't feel the weight of tragedy, only a strange, rhythmic clarity. He picked up his coat, the brass buttons glinting in the low light. He wasn't waiting for the ground to open up beneath his feet anymore. He was just ready to be "alone inside his room," back in the tiny world where things made sense. He could hear the faint, ghostly echo of