It was the same room he'd been given when Ray and Stella Quinn had
brought him home.
The walls had been a pale green then.
Sometime during his sixteenth year he'd gotten a wild hair and painted them magenta.
God knew why.
He remembered that his mother--for Stella had become his
mother by then--had taken one look and warned him he'd have terminal indigestion.
He thought it was sexy. For about three months.
Then he'd gone with a
stark white for a while, accented with moody black-framed,
black-and-white photographs.
Always looking for ambiance, Phillip thought now, amused at himself.
He'd circled back to that soft green right before he moved to Baltimore.
Inner Harbor
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