Wandering
It was good while it lasted, the gig working for Harvey, but once it was over, Simon did his best to vanish again. Sorry, Jack, Jon, or whoever you are. Sell your own LSD. Hide your own corpses, if you make any. Simon has no desire to be caught if, God forbid, Mr. Dent decides to tell people where the bodies went.
He's abstained since Halloween, too. It doesn't do to go into hiding if your trail of bodies follows you like a neon sign. So it's been more than two weeks since the last body. Closer to three. And that's a very long time to ask anyone to go hungry. Getting into lean season, too, when the streets are wet(ter) and dark(er) and windy(er) and no one's willing to stop at all for the skinny kid wrapped in a recently-fine suit jacket begging on the street corner, let alone listen to his whispered offer of 'Anything you want, just somewhere warm."
He's abstained since Halloween, too. It doesn't do to go into hiding if your trail of bodies follows you like a neon sign. So it's been more than two weeks since the last body. Closer to three. And that's a very long time to ask anyone to go hungry. Getting into lean season, too, when the streets are wet(ter) and dark(er) and windy(er) and no one's willing to stop at all for the skinny kid wrapped in a recently-fine suit jacket begging on the street corner, let alone listen to his whispered offer of 'Anything you want, just somewhere warm."