I sat at the table in the cafe waiting for Peter to come on stage and do his show. After about thirty minutes without anyone on stage, people started to leave. 

I started to feel a sickness arise in myself; where was he? And more importantly, was he a no show because of how I treated him the night before?  I wasn't sure. I just hoped he was okay wherever he was. 

I approached the manager of the shop, a good friend of Peter's. "Did Peter let you know he wasn't coming tonight?", I asked. 

He sighed as he cleaned off a table that had on it three practically full coffee cups. "No, I haven't heard from him. If you see him, let him know if he does this again, he's done playing here."

I nodded and quickly left, kind of hurt that a good friend of his wouldn't give Peter another chance. He should know that he was going through tough times right now. 

I got into a cab and went to his house. The lights were off, his car was gone, and there was nothing but a note on the door. 

It read: "To anyone who may care, I've decided there's nothing here in CA that I have any use for anymore. Gone back home at last. - Peter." 

I couldn't believe it. The night before, Peter expressed no immediate desire to go back to his hometown, at least not yet. I was really worried about him and images of the night before when we danced flashed in my brain. 

I started to feel my head spin and tears well in my eyes. I noticed there was an address on the back of the note. 

I quickly pocketed it and went home for the night.