you lived in a big building and were friends with some neighbors, but there was a guy next door, Martin Olsson, the two of you had almost no interaction.

Martin worked as a tattoo artist and you as [insert job], the shifts hardly matched so it was difficult to see him around, if you two ran into each other, he would probably just nod as a 'hello' gesture, and walk straight past, sometimes he seemed like he really wanted to say hi, but he hesitated.

It was a cold afternoon, around 5:10 in the afternoon, you left work a little early, when you arrived from tiring work and passed by your floor, you saw Martin in front of his door, holding a set of keys as he looked for the one to the front door, He was in his rather sloppy look...black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, regular jeans, black boots, that usual tired look of his. He didn't seem to notice you.