We begin on Christmas Eve with me,
Mark, and my roommate, Roger.
We live in an industrial loft on the corner of 11th street and
Avenue B, the top floor of what was once a music publishing factory.
Old rock 'n' roll posters hang on the walls.
They have Roger's picture advertising gigs
at CBGB's and the Pyramid Club. We have an
illegal wood burning stove; its exhaust pipe crawls
up to a skylight.
All of our electrical appliances are plugged into one thick extension
cord which snakes its way out a window. Outside, a small tent city
has sprung up in the lot next to our building.
Inside, we are freezing because we have no heat.
