Stephen Mejias

Long Before Deceit and Lust

Autumn came without calling first. It snuck its way in through the cracks of my old kitchen windows and made itself at home. I've asked it to spend nights on my orange couch, but, while I sleep, it comes into my bed and hogs all the blankets. It's cold in my apartment.

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Besides dumpsters and dust, IN New York magazine left us with some profound silence. We spent much of the morning admiring it. Today, the ninth floor of 261 Madison Avenue, which can comfortably accommodate nearly 100 dedicated employees, saw only seven.

Maybe it's because of the rain. Maybe it's because of the Mets. There's no reason for me to be thinking of this now, but I am. And so:

I'm not so sure about the tongue kissing part, but still. Mark Morford, living in the moment: