18 September << 2001 >> 28 September
There would be firemen marching in the darkness in single file, looking like medieval warriors, carrying awls, pikes, shovels, hoes, and you looked at them differently now, their processions almost holy, because you saw how big their grief was. They'd worked 10 and 20 and 40 hours in the rubble to forget it, to make something good of it, to find a man, a whole man, give him a decent burial, and perhaps find a survivor. You saw them planted in sleep on brown couches pulled from the smashed windows of ground-floor offices, with signs saying "Dave's Café. Le Menu: 1) water 2) water 3) cold water." You saw them sitting on curbs, in rows of stunned silence, soot-faced, white-eyed, or on benches in ash-scummed restaurants alone in front of candles, and when you saw them you gave them water. And some wept quietly, then quit it suddenly, like hanging up a phone.
http://www.salon.com/news/feature/2001/09/19/dust/index1.html
You know, I've had a rough couple of months, and things are not yet looking up, but I don't feel much like complaining.
18 September
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2001
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28 September
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dannyman.toldme