Something about Kurt Cobain..

Kurt closed his eyes. Cold air blew past, and over and far away from
where he was standing on the corner. He didn't read the street sign,
he didn't want to know where he was. His eyes; fixed on the ground.
The asfault crumbled away under his shoes and clear water gurgled
along the curb. Kurt ran his fingers through his greasy hair. He bent
over and spit into the street; he didn't need to. Cars drove past, he
didn't watch them. They stopped. He scuffed to the other side of the
road, leaving his spit and the crumbled road behind. No one saw him
go. No one knew where he was going, not even himself. The sky, it was
White. No clouds, no fog; white. Just White, and cold. Like frosty
steam. He squinted his eyes to sheild them from a ray of sunlight.
Kurt invisioned his face, as it was just then; his lips pressed
together, his nose    was red, he was just getting over a cold and had
been sniffling for days...his eyes, they were sad. A small wrinkle in
either corner, brown, black, and blonde eyelashes crossing and fanning
out into the horizon of his vision. He saw White buildings. Brick
underneath the peeling, cracking, eggshell like, stucko paint. The
buildings, with red roofs and blue and green aunings. Tattered by the
weather, faided by the sun. The sidewalk, grey and mossed-over like
the houses on the street ahead. His hands; looked like they were under
a flickering florecent light in full sun. His fingers were long and
thin and restless. In his pockets, trying to be warm. Kurt closed his
eyes. He wanted out.