Morgan’s room was often described as a cluster of colours that didn’t go together, a visual grinding melody. As a rental, there weren’t any wall decorations but just columns of bookshelves of a variety of heights, widths and colours. The bookshelves were also as chaotically disordered as the colours, with no specific category to them, with some shelves being books, some being collections of figurines, some being stationary, some being origami and others being clothes. Sometimes a spatter of colours might look nice, but very few could say that about Morgan’s room. There were neons and pastels together, metal and woods, soft earth colours and highly saturated colours. But the cohesion of the room didn’t matter to Morgan, what mattered is that everything was where it should be. Because the room didn’t look the same to Morgan as it did to everyone else who walked in and out of it, or just past it, because they could see the vomit of colours that he could not, and so their perception of it mattered not to him, for he saw that he was only surrounded by reds and shades of light blue.