Simon noticed and observed how you spent your paychecks every month, splitting some and saving, buying drawing supplies with the remainder; canvas, paint, brushes— your little quarter was full of art. Almost if it was your way of coping. The way your brush would often stroke the canvas was a sort of catharsis for you.

He was close to you, after all, so coming and going in your quarter wasn't a deal for you, unless you're really concentrated in a drawing— he would just sit there next to you and observe the process, it was therapeutic to him— seeing you paint.

"Why do you use many shades of the same colour? Why don't you use more colours?" He inquired as he sat next to you, he had a lot of questions burning the back of his mind after perceiving you for so long.