Friday I was dogsitting and distracted and realized at 10:30 p.m. that I HAD NO PORTRAIT OF THE DAY. And of course it would destroy every perfectionist bone in my body to MISS a day given the nature of the project, so I immediately had to make a choice: one, head to Union Square and look for a drunk beautiful person, or two, head downstairs and take a photo of the doorman. And since I wasn't willing to change into Real Pants or put on Real Shoes and since I wasn't wearing makeup that was at least two days old, I thought I just wasn't equipped enough to go out. And so the doorman gets the POD. Every time I've seen him since this photo shoot, he says, "Where my picture? Where my picture?"
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