Tuesday, September 17, 2002

Workaday

Alone in the backseat of a cab at 11 pm, you watch as the lamp posts go by slowly, slowly. Cruising along unfamiliar highways and sidestreets, you imagine you're on a trip to some exotic place. Some place different, unpredictable, where fourteen-hour workdays and fifteen-minute lunches are unheard of. But you're only going home.

Over and over we begin again.

"Hi.... it's been a while... your freckled smile... has lost its charming glimmer... "- Just Like Henry, Dressy Bessy

Sunday, September 15, 2002

Stories

Everyone has a story.

Li was trapped in a train underground for an hour. Joe reached out and caught a piece of paper with a speck of blood on it. Ian was in one of the towers an hour before the incident. B saw the first plane hit.

It's important to tell and retell the stories so we don't forget. Because we can, and because it's so easy to.

Long after the full minute of silence passed, the radio continued to drone on and on, calling out the names of the people who died.