It's what you might call a slow dissolution of reality, and he watches as the credits roll (logic is crumbling).
Five minutes ago he'd seen himself standing across the street. Now the streetlamps are raining pale pink petals, and he wonders if it's an illusion, or just another mind gone mad. It's only the end of the world again.
This came about as a result of watching too much Angel, reading too much fic, and my general obsession with Vladimir Kush & Dali. Title comes from a story by Neil Gaiman of the same name.