My first issue, the most important place for me to put a small stack of my newsletters was in the vestibule of St. Mark’s Bookshop. To me, that small space was the home office of intellectual free papers and announcements for plays and art happenings that defined an intelligent city. When I crossed the threshold from there into the store, I was where I felt I belonged, the kind of store I had imagined myself in when I was younger and living elsewhere. A place where you might see Susan Sontag looking around, which I in fact did a couple times.
Now it’s fighting for its life. But it’s not dead. You can keep it alive by shopping there. Google it. Sign petitions. But go there. There’s no place like it. Let’s keep that sentence in the present tense.
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