I waited in the stairwell for almost an hour before Jonathan, my new boss, showed up. He didn’t smile, didn’t apologize. Just turned a key in the center of the door because the fox lock is actually a gear mechanism that releases massive metal prongs from holes in the door frame. Everything in this neighborhood is nineteenth-century like that. The stairwells have banisters covered in hundreds of coats of paint, every door is heavy and reinforced with riveted metal, the lofts are enormous, floored with dark planks of ancient wood. The cavernous ceilings are sheathed in patterned tin. The building facades are cast iron.

Jonathan’s place is called Erehwon Video. (Erehwon is “nowhere” spelled backwards. Get it?) We specialize in video art, which is the new cool thing. We assist artists who use Sony Portapaks to make their art. My job is to sit at a desk and answer the phone and inventory our video equipment and the videotape library. People come and go all day. Plus Jonathan has a viewing room where people can watch these videotapes on a monitor (TV set). He also wants me to write publicity releases about stuff we’re doing. I don’t really understand what the big deal is about, but Jonathan’s going to pay me a hundred and thirty-five bucks a week, so it’s worth it.

Most of the “video artists” who come by are hippie types: long hair, bushy beards. I guess they see themselves as revolutionaries who are using video to change the world. (Don’t hold your breath.) These artists videotape everything they can. Some are documentary filmmakers. Sometimes they show their tapes in art galleries, even museums! This Korean guy came by who didn’t say much but laughed a lot. Jonathan says his stuff is in the Museum of Modern Art. Nam June Paik is his name.

We leave a monitor running in the front room all day with video art playing on it. Most of the stuff is pretty boring. Once in a while there’s some nudity which I appreciate. There was even one in which a guy was discussing philosophy while this girl with tattoos sucked his dick. I guess the point was that after a while the philosophy lost out to the orgasm. Some point, huh?

So anyway, I made it through the day. It’s easier than loading boxes on a truck dock. After work I didn’t really have anywhere to go, so I headed for Times Square again and had another gyro at the gyro place. I shouldn’t eat so much of this stuff, it’s going to wreck my skin. The Greek guy with the mustache didn’t recognize me. He must see a thousand people a day. No gang members hanging out this time. A lady with bleached gray hair was hunched over the counter, sucking on a droopy cigarette and slurping a cup of coffee. After my sandwich, I gobbled down a New York City éclair—swollen and perfect, almost obscene, packed with yellow ooze.