This morning, 1:30 a.m., outside of the Box. A lone, Nordic-looking blond man in his mid-to-late thirties approaches the door wearing nothing but swim trunks. Clearly he’s there for one of the Box’s weekly indoor-beach parties. But here’s the problem: As the would-be Hasselhoff finds out when he tries the door, they’re on Wednesdays, and the Box is closed on Mondays. Awkward. He strolls into the gritty Lower East Side night, like a semi-nude De Chirico character.