From George Duroy's notes:

"One day in May last year, Kevin appeared on my doorstep. Off his right hand hung a duffle bag. On his back he carried a brimming rucksack out of which poked his favorite pair of teddy bear slippers. With a soccer ball under his left arm and lunch sack in hand he beamed "Good morning, Mr. George. Would it would be okay if I stayed with you for a while?" Thus far, "a while" has been a year. Kevin now shares a floor with Luke Hamill, who periodically grumbles that more socks than usual have gone "missing," and gives my housekeeper yet another mouth to feed and requests to attend to. Thus, any account of Kevin Warhol I could write is doomed to partiality. Kevin is a part of my life and household.