When I stopped by the Gertrude Stein reading on Saturday afternoon, there had been two urns of glistening pink borscht for a sturdy crowd that even included a couple families. Now, at 3:50 a.m. on Sunday morning, there was coffee for just a half dozen stragglers. One woman rubbed her eyes behind her glasses and ate crackers from a plastic bag. In the front row, a man snored. Two women had been reading aloud for an hour. As they continued, the snoring from the front row grew louder. "Wake up," said one of readers, taking a break from the text. The man did not comply.