"I'm ready to have it over with," Tom said, but there was some degree of relief in his face and his tone. Florence - god. One steady constant while the rest of the world was still skidding - Tom felt like the real crash hadn't even happened yet.

"Place is dry as a bone," he added, "And there's sawdust and crap all over the place." He lead the way inside, peeling back rotting plywood and stepping inside the musty, high ceiling building. In the corners there were needles and broken bottles, scraps of clothing. If they looked hard enough, Tom wouldn't have been surprised if they found bones.

"C'mon," he said, kicking together a pile of kindling. "Lets get this over with."