Quinton was in love. He was hoping that seeing Willie away from work, in a common environment would somehow be an anti-aphrodisiac. The idea was a flop. Willie wasn't surprised to see Quinton. Quinton was ill at ease the moment he walked in the door. He felt all big and bunging, afraid he'd knock over a plant or smash a chair if he sat down. But, he was glad he'd found Willie at home.

At home Willie was even more appealing. He wasn't all wrapped up with the trio and the music. He had a life. He was an interesting person to know. He wasn't all duded up for a show either. Willie was wearing a pair of tan chinos and a soft yellow pullover. They accented his chocolate skin tones. The entire apartment reflected the same subtle and tasteful coloring.

Willie offered Quinton a soda. They sat at the kitchen table. Dream memories flashed in Quinton's head. He was tongue tied. Willie didn't seem to care. Quinton was listening intently to everything he had to say. Willie liked that. He offered to give Quinton a tour of the apartment. Quinton followed along listening to the soft Southern drawl of Willie's voice, letting it reach into him, just like Willie's music. He didn't care what Willie was saying.

When they reached the bedroom Willie flung himself on the bed commenting on the fancy CD player, equalizer and pointing out the speakers in the corners. He flipped it on. It was the band's album.

Quinton stood staring at Willie and the bed, listening. This was all wrong the little man in his head told him. Get out. You shouldn't be here. He wanted to reach out and pick up Willie. He willed his arms and hands to not move, stay hanging by his side.