Sunday, September 11, 2005


There was a memorial on television this morning for the victims of 9/11. They were basically just reading off all the names of people who died, and at the bottom of the screen it said where they were from. I left my apartment at 10 this morning, they were on the last name Calhoun and when I returned 2 and a half hours later they only up to names starting with the letter G. People say time heals all wounds, but I don't think that's necessarily true. I remember the day so clearly: everyone standing on the roof of gym, watching the second plane hit, the huge cloud of smoke, watching the first tower go down. It was too much to bear. Noone really knew what was going on. Were we at war, were more places in New York going to be hit? It was my second day in a new school and although noone really knew eachother I remember everyone sitting in a circle and praying. There was nothing else anyone could do that day except pray and sit glued in front of the tv for days on end.
And it's been four years and the world trade center is still basically just a hole. I remember getting off the subway at the WTC stop for the first time, maybe 6 months after it happened. There's a huge window and you can see everything. It was horrifying. People rushed past on their way to work. They seemed oblivious. Street vendors were actually selling rubble and random pieces of metal from the building as some sort of memorobilia. And tourists bought it with a smile. You can get 3 years in prison for selling a dime bag of weed, but selling ashes from a dead body is perfectly legal. This world is a sick, sick place.


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