MARKWe begin on Christmas Eve with me, Mark, and myroommate, Roger. We live in an idustrial loft on thecorner of 11th Street and Avenue B, the top floor ofwhat was once a music publishing factory. Old rockand roll posters hang on the walls. They have Roger'spicture advertising gigs at CBGB's and the PyramidClub. We have an illegal wood burning stove; it'sexhaust pipe crawls up to a skylight. All of ourelectrical appliances are plugged into one thickextension cord which snakes its way out a window.Outside a small tent city has sprung up in the lot nextto our building. Inside we are freezing because wehave no heat.