Continuing a walk around the apartment of filmmaker Jonas Mekas, above, I peeked behind a swooping red curtain and entered his office. On the desk is a stack of film tins labeled things like "Yoko" and "Dali" and "W.T.C." A portrait of his family hangs on the brick wall; he's the little guy in the front row on the right. Boxes and files and books are piled on endless shelves, and a pale-green monster of a vintage film machine (is this a projector?) sits at the entrance to the room. There's a mattress on the floor, a convenient crash pad.