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Simon leans against the countertop, in deep concentration, brows furrowed. He pays no attention to the customers milling around the store, browsing cheap merchandise and shitty snack food. He taps his pencil impatiently against the counter, focused on the crossword puzzle in front of him.
Grainy, crappy music flows through the store, agitating his overly sensitive ears. He can hear each squeaky shoe against the linoleum, each drop of rain that kisses the glass windows of the store front, acutely aware of all his surroundings.
*Thirteen across. Hurricane.* the deep, growling voice of Venom offers in the back of his skull, only for him to hear.
Simon quietly grumbles, "I was getting to that."
Still, he admits defeat, and scratches the letters in the row.
A customer comes up to the cash register, and Simon momentarily withdraws himself from his crossword to check out their purchase of potato chips. Simon does no customer service spiel, doesn't even make eye contact with them, and his only words are the price total.
Once that's been dealt with, he returns to his crossword puzzle. His ears perk up when the bell above the door rings, but he makes no moves to greet or even look up at the new arrival.
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