Art stores weren't really Lukas' scene. As an artist, which he only half considered himself to be, Lukas was not concerned with paints. He didn't care for canvas, oils, or charcoal. Clay was boring, pottery was ancient. Not only did Lukas have no need for brushes or pigments, he didn't even understand them as a medium. Painting was so two-dimensional, how could one ever accomplish anything with it?
When it came to art supplies, Lukas was more adapt at finding what he needed in junkyards and wrecking ball pull-a-parts. He needed steel and broken glass, molten metal and blowtorches. Sometimes he wondered about glass blowing, because that was multi-dimensional, and something he could understand. But the fragility turned him off. What he liked about working with metal was it's sturdiness, it's potential for forever. Glass could crumble and break and become sand once again.. but metal was here to stay.
Still, as Lukas walked past the glow of the storefront's windows, he recognized that looking around was fairly harmless. And it never hurt to pick up a sketchbook for architecture's sake. Lukas rarely planned out his pieces before he began constructing them, but maybe he could start. It would give him something to do on these late, unending nights.
The signs over the aisles directed him to the far left for sketch supplies, and Lukas picked through the books of varying size with skeptical eyes.