PHILADELPHIA--Tent city is a lonely place. There are 6,500 miles of fiber-optic cable, millions of inches of wires, more than 10,000 like-minded souls--and there's no one to talk to. It is Monday night, 7:26 p.m., inside the temporary Philadelphia headquarters of a major television news organization. The evening news has ended, the union crews are on a break and there are a few hours until we next go on the air. Most of us are just sitting here, clicking through our news wires.

A lonely city is the soup of stories. Particularly a lonely city full of single journalists with expense accounts who cover politics.

Outside the major news organization's tent, the Japanese television network NHK is pissed off at its tent city neighbors, the major news organization. Between its two trailers is a great shortcut into the convention hall, but NHK wants its preciously paid for space all to itself. So the network taped a "DO NOT ENTER" sign to a sun-withered chair. It is ignored. And so are the resulting curses from Japanese television technicians.

On the other side of one of the NHK production trucks, Peter Jennings is walking up a series of steps, holding in his hand pages of a script. Jennings is a famous man who has been on American broadcast television for 40 years. More than seven million people watch him each night. Inevitably, a bystander recognizes him.

"Oh, that's Peter Jennings," emits a man who swings his head around as the tall news anchor passes by. The bystander looks about 67 and has a yellow delegate credential hanging around his wide tie. "Dad," says the man's twenty-something daughter, "he's probably busy. Just leave him alone. And besides, I don't have my camera with me."

But that didn't faze Dad, who huffs up the hot sidewalk to catch poor Peter (whose sole protection was two young assistants, each of which had papers in their hands and heavy bags on their shoulders). But Peter is nice. He says a kind word and takes refuge under a magnetometer in a security tent. The daughter finally finds her camera and snaps away.

Peter walks inside the First Union Center, turns left, passes a group of yellow-shirted conventioneers who are headed into the hall. A guy with glasses is giving instructions: "Now, a lot of media are going to ask you questions, and a lot are going to want to get to places they can't go, so no matter what they tell you, just tell them that you don't have the authority to allow them to go there." A reporter watches the group with bemusement as he sips water from a fountain--he knows very well that he'll get where he can't go, or else he'll be fired.

The reporter walks downstairs to the convention floor, turns the corner and heads beneath the stands. He walks into a small room enveloped in blue drapery and full of thick wires. It is an anchor booth. To save costs, a major television network decided not to outfit a skybox. Packed in the tiny room are about 12 technicians and stagehands.