The sense of dark nothingness consumed the thoughts of Joey and his friends. This sense was so strong that it could blanket towns with one blow, destroying everything that everyone knew and loved. However, it was just a picture, a picture filled with the devilish image itself of hate, death, and destruction, but still it was a picture. All they could see was different shades of colors twisted into many different figures. However, these figures were no regular figures, there was something odd about them indeed. The strange and marvelous thing about it is that these figures never have the same appearance twice. It must have been an optical illusion or something, but it was true art. The mere touch of oil paints to a canvas opened up so many ways of interpretation. The possibilities were endless and the thought behind it was too. And worst of all, neither he nor his two friends could even begin to comprehend the meaning of such magnificent artwork. All it was to Joey and his friends was colored blotches on paper, but what do you really expect from these kids. They were just three simple kids fifteen almost sixteen years old, sophomores in high school. The funny thing was that this picture, stupefied, almost scared them because they finally had met something that they could not explain in a lie, or truth. The picture was just too complicated for their simple minds. These kids, especially Joey, would never be the same because, even though, they felt stupid at this moment, they would make sure that it would never happen again.
             They all left the museum at about four o'clock. Joey split up from his friends on the corner of Park Avenue and Forty-second Street. He slid his Metrocard through the slot and went through the turn-style. He boarded the train and rode to Canal Street. After that he walked home. It was about six-thirty when he got home. He did his usual routine, got something to eat, took a shower, did his ...