He continued his line of thought. Mathematics was a tool for making models. So was painting. Science and art had that in common. They made models--of physical reality and of a personal, or human, reality. It was all about model making. Got it! He looked around the room. Got it! No one seemed to notice that he had just figured out a biggie. Probably they all knew it already. He finished his beer and went home, leaving Eve a big tip. The next morning he thought of Willow as he was closing the front door behind him. Chives were blooming by the shed. He picked a handful of purple blossoms and carried them to Ann's Deli. "Top o' the mornin'," he said to Willow who was behind the counter. "Oooh," she said. "Chives!" She put them in a small glass with water and set them on the counter. She motioned Patrick to the back of the deli where she put her arms around him. "Patrick?" "Mmmm." The hug was warm and intense, but there was work, a sandwich, breakfast . . . "Good morning," she said happily, letting him go. "I need a sandwich--got to go to work." "Roast beef?" She made the sandwich while Patrick chose a pint of orange juice and a banana. "Want to meet me at the Depresso later?" he asked. "I can't tonight," she said. "Oh." He was surprised by his disappointment. "Tomorrow?" she offered. "O.K., good. Around five?" That was better. "Oh, Willow . . . " He turned in the doorway. "I've been thinking about science and art again." "I'll be brave," she promised. Patrick skipped into the News Shop feeling much better. Parker put him on a job on the Wittenberg Road, working with Gino's crew. There was a lot of scraping to be done. Patrick rolled a bandanna the way Wilson did and stripped to the waist. By break time, he was sweating and relaxed, a large section of one side done. Parker passed out cups of coffee. Patrick ate his banana. Talk jumped from the war to cars to women to growing grass to IBM. There was an IBM plant in Kingston. It had become a symbol of the culture moving in a bad direction. IBM'rs made good money--it was conceded--but they had to wear white shirts and ties; they were considered sell outs, one step removed from robots. Gino told a story about a friend of his who had struggled through a university degree in engineering. "He was halfway through, dropped out, and got drafted. He also got married, but he couldn't live off base until he was finished with a training program in Alabama. Cleo, his wife, had an apartment in town, and Eddie stayed too late one night. The main gate closed. He had to be in formation, or whatever they call it, early in the morning before he could get back on base." Gino sipped coffee. "There was a river along one side of the base. He walked into it--at night, pitch black, snakes, alligators--and started swimming. He made it."