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My September 11th


Curious to see what was going on, I casually walked into the living room, mascara wand in hand, and gawked at the billowing smoke. As New Yorkers are easily jaded, I blew it off thinking one of those tourist helicopter rides over the city had gone awry. They always seem to be flying so low, like awkward young birds just about to graze the tree tops. Staying home in the safety of my own apartment never even crossed my mind. Once I made my way outside and looked towards the water front, it all seemed a bit more serious, and I noticed people beginning to gather on their rooftops, struggling for a better view. I grabbed a copy of the Post and a coffee, and made my way to the subway. .
             The Manhattan bound F train was a bit more alert than usual. On most mornings the sporadic jerking and constant humming vibration of the subway cars seemed to put people into deep sleep. But today, people who typically chose to remain sleepy, silent and anonymous, were engaged in serious conversation with strangers. I overheard at least ten side bar conversations of passengers recounting, and often exaggerating the mornings events. I then heard someone say that a second plane had hit the other tower, and next came talk of it not being accidental. Reality was now lurking all around me, but I had no clue of the events to come. I was a bit concerned at that point, as being trapped underground on a subway car is not the best place to be during a catastrophe. Not really knowing what to be fearful of or why, I continued to read my paper, transferred to the uptown A, and got off in Chelsea on West 23rd Street.
             Sweating profusely as I pounded the pavement on my way to the studio, I noticed people flocking on the corners of the Avenue's, facing downtown towards the World Trade Center. Intrigued as I was, I sped up my pace since I was already twenty minutes late. As I walked into the quiet studio, I had no idea of the horror that had begun to unfold.


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