New York City

I remember I was in my room.  My first apartment, on Ave. C and 3rd St.
And I remember how annoyed I was to be woken up by my band member and roommate. 

I almost recall trying to say something nasty, but was a bit hungover and too slow to spit it out.

The news was vague, but horrific.

Before we knew it there was dust in the air.  Soot.  Ashes...from bodies and buildings.  
People with names.

..................................................................................................................

We didn't know where to eat.  Not that we cared.
But none of us knew what to do.

Cafe Orlin was open on St. Marks Place.

I have held an irrational disdain for Orlin ever since.
I never realized why until now.

They were still serving.

We went to 85A a day or so later.
And drank like nothing happened or
maybe like everything did.

Sometimes the hardest things never truly ease.
The persistence of their memory.

They become a part of us.
Goosebumps.  Uncomfortable.  And persistent.

That I can never, and would not ever want to forget.

Silent Gratitude

 

I work next to WTC and i saw 2 people cheering and they were both donning flags and newspapers with tourists taking their pics. I saw many more people taking photos with firefighters and cops and expressing their gratitude. I also saw one construction work hang a flag maybe 20 stories up on a building being constructed while 30 people or so looked on in silence. I find the response I have seen in the media of people as if they were on spring break, if not offensive, at least off putting. But down here I just have not seen that. It takes me all I have to walk past ground zero every day and not think of the soot and ashes of buildings and bodies that made its way towards the east village slowly after the planes hit. Yesterday, l looked in the faces of some first responders and couldn't help but feel a sense of relief, for them. For me. For us. I know he was largely a figurehead at this point. But in a way that makes it all the more meaningful.