the second story

Another short story: I transferred in to Massart, having already attended two (yes two) other schools. I still had to take a few freshman classes, though, including something that involved painting. One of my professors caught me hiding my enormous paintings in a stairwell, and gave me a key to an empty room to use as a studio. This was awesome. For weeks, I had that room to myself, and, being the person I am, I would frequently take off my shirt to paint, as to avoid staining it. That was great, until one day, the professor gave a key to another student, who opened the door to see me, nearly nude, painting a still life. He squeaked, turned beet red, and slammed the door. We later became great friends.