I had a studio on the second floor by the window when I was in school. Sometimes, I’d look out of the window. The window would overlook the entrance, a canal and a park. People chatting. Parking their bikes and cars. Passers-by drifting. I’d be hoping to witness something different. A change in scenery. Sometimes I’d see Max by the entrance. He’d often go on smoke breaks, usually asking if I would like to join. I would always join him. One day, I remember seeing him smoking a cigarette alone. It had stopped raining. It was cold. He had a yellow jacket on. He was about to finish his cigarette. He took the few last puffs. Then he went back in.