Kit

Kit sat on the dock, lost in thought. The sun sank into the Thames as he captured the last breath of the sunset with charcoal that moved feverishly across the canvas. Suddenly, a voice broke his concentration; a Japanese woman asked him, with a politeness that seemed out of place on that cold dock, for directions. Kit scanned her slowly, from head to toe, without acknowledging her, before turning back to his painting. He completely ignored her.

Confused and with her pride wounded, she repeated the question, but Kit offered her only a deathly silence. With an almost savage indifference, he took a piece of bread and bit into the crumb, which was now blackened by the charcoal from his own fingers. The girl, unable to tolerate this affront any longer, turned to leave.

Just as she was walking away, Kit's voice cut through the air, dry and emotionless:

"Go straight ahead and turn left." Continue down that street and you'll see Alex Sanson's building right next door; that's where you're looking for," he said, without taking his eyes off his work, letting the charcoal continue to dictate its own law on the canvas.