Something in the Way...

Something in Deway

Sunday, April 2nd, 1994
8:54 am

There were only two things on his mind.

Where in his will had he written that only Krist could be the next owner of his fader blue pawn shop fender electric guitar, and the fact that he was back in Seattle- the second worst city in the United States next to Aberdeen- and he knew literarily fucking nobody that could get him some true East Coast China white.

The last thing he intended to do was push tar into his dying veins on his death bed, but intentions were often so far from reality.

Kurt could recognize that much.

He stands on the corner of East Harrison Street and Deway, a cigarette pursed between his lips. He pushes his thin hand into his pocket, pulling out a matchbook and striking it easily. Lighters were hard right now, especially with the withdraw. He glances around. He knew this area only vaguely, but he was fairly certain he could get home from here. He pulls his sunglasses off the top of his head, pushing them over his eyes and pushing his shaky hand through his yellowed hair.

As he takes a long draw of his cigarette, he feels his lung protest with a weak spasm sending the quiet man doubling over in a cough. He grips onto the breast of his jacket as he sinks down to the ground, gripping onto his matted hair once more, tugging softly in a way which he recognized as a self-soothing technique.

He lets his hand rest there, pulling his own head up as he takes a long breath, plucking the cigarette from his lips and forcing the last of the smoke out of his nose. Kurt lets his chest sink down between his knees for a moment, closing his eyes before he pushes his hand into his bag, pulling in his thick hunters cap. He grips onto the pole next to him, hoisting himself up and standing shakily once more on the curb. He didn't have time to be sad. He had places to be.

A certain specific place, actually.

Kurt moves along Harrison out toward a large road marked as Martin Luther King Jr Way. He glances up as he passes a SafeWay. He'd been here countless times before when he was on break from touring. It was a brisk 20 minute walk from his house on Lake Washington when he couldn't find sleep in Courtney's bed or on the air mattress he kept in the greenhouse closet when Courtney kicked him out of her bed.

He could use some smokes now, Kurt identifies, as his pale eyes move over the facade of the store. He pushes his hand into his pocket, pulling out a wad of cash. It was mostly ones and fives and a few twenties. Less than 100 dollars over all. He would have to be carful with it. He didn't mind. He loved it, in actuality. He waddles to the door, pushing it open with his shoulder and dipping in. He moves across the store casually, grabbing a package of skittles as he passes by, along with a case of root beer and some barbecue corn nuts.

He leans back against the beer case as he examines the latter of the three listed items. In all of his twenty seven years on God's green earth he'd encountered a handful of mysteries he knew he would never resolve. One of them being:

What the fuck are corn nuts?

I mean. Are they corn? Or are they nuts?

He shakes his head, turning back toward the counter. He pauses as he sees someone checking out- a tall, lanky man with long hair. He was purchasing some essentials, it seemed. Diapers. Bottles. New green rubber pacifiers. Kurt's eyes shift down to the floor. He moves his hand up to rub at his neck and quietly feel over his own pulse. Pounding. He bites his cheek harshly before moving over slowly, standing behind the man in line.

The man turns, and he pauses, looking over Kurt as the musician fiddles with his wallet as though he was looking at a ghost. "I-Kurt?!" The nanny manages, reaching out to the man.

Kurt takes a step back, his hands shooting up, one clutching a stack of bills. "Fuck no." He mutters, lowering his graveled voice. "Wrong guy, buddy." He lays the ten dollar bill down before pushing quickly back outside with a weak protest from the buzzer on the door. He looks around, his heart racing. He needed to get the fuck out of here before Cali called someone, which Kurt was sure the man would do, the paranoid Fuck. Kurt looks around, moving briskly down the sidewalk with the junk food clutched to his chest.

By the time he made it to MLK, he was wheezing softly, struggling under the layers of dirty clothing and his lack of nutrition intake. He pauses as he sees a taxi lurking around the corner. He moves over quickly, opening the back door. The cabbie turns back to him. Kurt pants softly, swallowing before murmuring above the rush of traffic in his soft draw, his large hand against the side of the cab to brace himself:

"How much from here to Aberdeen?"

[ Hey, thanks so much for the read. I'm super excited about this project. Sorry this chapter was so short. It's sort of a teaser to see if people are interested. Leave a comment if you think I should continue this! ]