Looking back years later, Mark would never know why he had decided to do a series on Battery Park during different times of day. He almost didn't go that morning, but waking up early, he caught a strange quality of the light through the clouds, and hopped on his bike ( Read more... )

The lobby of the building is mosty uninteresting. A stairway is the first thing seen, to the right a bank of mailboxes, to the left an outer office, with Mark's office to the rear of that. Behind the stairs is a hallway leading to other offices. As always a pile of boxes lie in front of the mailboxes. Watch your step!

The lobby of the building is, as it always is, quite busy. Directly in front of the door is a staircase leading upstairs. If one were to look straight up, one could see all the way to the top of the stairwell, and possibly even the door to the Loft ( Read more... )

( Polltime! )

If you woke up and I was in bed with you, what would be your first thought?

Speeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak!Mark? Pick up, damnit. You're not answering your cell, and I don't think you're in Vegas... Fine. I'll talk to your world-famous machine. Five's your lucky number, man. We got five again. Picture, Adaptation, Editing, Kyle, and Jill. I'm calling Quin to get the press releases out. You're probably... out. Why am I not ( Read more... )

United Nations General Assembly, December 1, 1999Ladies and gentlemen of the United Nations... I have to apologise first and foremost. I'm not a speaker, never have been. I spend my life behind the camera, not in front of a podium. So, if I sound rough, unpolished, or if I drop my notes and totally forget my speech, please forgive me. I also ( Read more... )

"What's the next one? Across the field ( Read more... )

Sleeping beside Sara is amazingly comforting. Perhaps that's why it takes him a few moments to realize that he's not really there. Or at least, a part of him isn't there ( Read more... )

Strange, after all of the glee of the past few days, coming back to the Loft seems almost an anti-climax. Sliding the door open, Mark peered in. Roger was on the couch, the Fender out, and atypically for usual, no notebook in evidence. The guitar's tune finally reached Mark, and he facepalms as he recognizes Musetta's Waltz. He stepped into the ( Read more... )