"Art-?" he stopped himself. Zech knew much more about art and literature than Simon. Simon liked it when he tried to educate him and explained why something was good. He liked it when Zech read to him - a different kind of literature than the little stories in the weeklies his sisters borrowed from their friends and read to the family in the evenings. He especially liked it when Zech read work that suggested there were more people like them, and they loved the way he wanted to love Zech. Such glimpses seemed to lift above himself and made him aspire to be so much more, so much better, so much happier - before he left Zech's place and fell back to that other, dark world where such lofty ideals could hardly even shine through the clouds of boredom, futility, and isolation, let alone touch the ground.

Yes, Zech knew art, but he would not share it with Hurley like he shared it with Simon. Hurley understood nothing about such things. Hurley inhabited this dark world. No, whoever he had in mind, it was not Zech. Simon relaxed a little. That other world was still unspoiled, and Zech was still ignorant of this one and Simon's secrets.

He would have stepped back further, but his calf was pressed against the bench. Hurley's suggestions disgusted him, but Simon was certain he was lying. "He's too good for you. He doesn't need you."

He needed to go. Dared he push past Hurley, never mind his bag?