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"H-hi,"Kell stammered. "I'm, uh,Kell."

"Nice to meet you.What do you dohere?"

"Computers,"Kell responded. His mind wasreeling.

"Cool.Hey, are you alright? You look a littleflushed."

"I'm fine,"Kell said. "Uh, I have to go." He stumbled away and practically fell out the frontdoor.

"See you around,"William called after him, looking confused. "Is he okay?" he asked Montrell, who shook hishead.

Kell gotinto his car and had to sit there for a while to let his heart settle. He felt like he was going to pop. This was too much. What the hell was going on? He felt tears coming back, and he quickly turned on the car and pulled out of the parking lot before he was able to break down and be incapable of doinganything.

He threwhimself into his apartment and slammed the door behind him. Standing on the easel in the center of the room was his portrait of Parker. The anger and the sadness was churning through him like a hurricane. He greeted his teeth, and with an anguished yell he kicked the easel, sending the painting whirling through the air. It smacked against the wall, smearing the still-wet oil paint in aggressive streaks. Kell stared at it, breathing hard. After a few minutes, he gathered himself and picked up the easel and the canvas. He got his jar of clean turpentine and cleaned the streaks of paint from the wall. The unfinished portrait of Parker sat staring at him on theeasel.

"Fuck you,"he whispered, and he grabbed hispaintbrush.