Paparazzi and TV crews assemble outside 421 Broome Street, Soho, where Heath Ledger died, earlier today. About 200 crowded in a tight circle around the doorway of 421 Broome. Cameras in the front. Print reporters with their notepads in the back. More cameras across the street. They blocked the door of the Nanette Lapore boutique next door. A worker poked her head out: "I know it's very exciting, but people are trying to come in here."

They weren't. One photographer, caught in the melee, tumbled off a stepladder and crashed to the ground. "I'm okay!" she exclaimed, clicking her camera over and over as she got up. "Vincent! Memory card!" demanded another. Another photographer was struck with the import of it all. He crossed his chest. "You heard about this already? Jesus. This is tragic." He looked down mournfully. "I should have brought my cross."

One Asian tourist, caught in the scrum, was perplexed.
"What happened?"
"Heath Ledger died. The guy from Brokeback Mountain."
"Oh.. the main character?"
"Yep."
The tourist considered for a moment. "Was he gay?"

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