He exited the train at Buenos Aires. That was as far as his ticket would take him. He wandered around the city for a while afterwards. It wasn't much, so he boarded a flight to London. The flight stewardess was pretty, but not overly so. Her hair was perfectly tied up in a bun and her lips were pink, straight out of a Barbie Doll. He smiled at her. She smiled back. That was as much as he would allow himself.
When he got off in London, he walked to where his house had been. He stared for a while at the empty, dusty construction site, then turned sharply on his heels and walked away. Regrets were for the weak. He didn't regret a thing he'd done. For a day, he wandered the city. He saw the Big Ben and the Tower of London. Strange that he'd never before.
Then he took a taxi to the seaside. Cornwall. He walked on the beach there, feeling the shingle scratch his feet, feeling the cold, cold water numb his toes. Feeling. It was a new experience for him. He liked it. The wind blew his hair about and he had to push it out of his eyes. His lips were chapped, he realized.
He walked away from the beach and sat down at a table in a restaurant. A waiter came up to him, but he waved the menu away. This was not the time for eating. After a while of contemplatively staring at the breaking waves, he boarded a boat. He didn't know where it was taking him. And he liked it that way.