Stephen Mejias

PSB Imagine

Last Tuesday evening, JA and I left the office together and stormed through Madison Avenue's rush-hour onslaught, beneath so much Art Deco splendor, around Grand Central's excitement and confusion, passed happy hour revelers&#151slicked-backed men dressed in jackets and ties as if it wasn't 100 degrees outside, and impossibly radiant women in their picture-perfect poses sipping frozen drinks through tall, thin straws&#151to make our way into Park Avenue's old and golden Waldorf=Astoria.

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Elizabeth's Last Day

Friday, June 20th, was Elizabeth Donovan's last day at work. We left the office together, and walked across the street to Mulligan's Pub. Elizabeth carried a large backpack, a box of books, a lamp. The place was packed, but we found a little space by the door, beneath an air conditioning unit.

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This Is Our Music

Fortunately, I didn't have to rob any banks or max out my credit cards this weekend. I didn't even have to travel to Africa. The crazy heat and humidity (Footnote for Jaclyn Gooding), however, made it feel like high noon in the Kalahari Desert. Simply sitting at my kitchen table, my laptop (Footnote for AlexO) open and our April 2008 issue turned to page 155, was a kind of dull, hot torture.

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