New York City, baby.

Friday, September 12, 2003

Blubox stopped on 13th Street and saw flowers propped up inside the firehouse. Candles burned below photos of those firefighters who lost their lives on 9/11. A Fire Chief in a crisp white dress shirt and shiny black shoes sat informally against a fire truck, listening to a woman – a wife? A sister? – wearing a T-shirt that read NEW YORK CITY. “Who have we risked our lives for?” we wondered as we kept walking. And then we went to Union Square. And a girl was sitting beside us on the stone steps, smoking Marlboro Menthols, talking on her cellphone. And she said, her voice rising with anger, “All the buttons on my duvet cover are gone!”


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