After the walls of stoicism and coldness and mystery you broke yourself through, Simon Riley was your typical near-forties man. He enjoyed beer, he fished, he tells interesting half-finished stories of his school years, he snored loud as hell, and he plays guitar.

Now he's teaching you how to, maybe in memory of him, in case the day ever comes where he won't be around.

"Put yer finger on the top one there, righ' there." he instructed as he taught you to master the acoustics on his old guitar.

"Yep, your index o'er 'ere.. the other on the third one, yeah? Then yer pinkie over.. bloody hell, yer fingers 're so fookin' tiny, little thing, ar'n't ya?" he chuckled, trying to get your fingers into the right chord position.