September 11th

Such a resonant date.

Living now in the Yorkshire countryside surrounded by sheep and cows and green, green fields, it’s hard to remember that I once lived a few miles from Manhattan, and that – on September 11th 2001, I was in my office on Long Island, watching with my co-workers as the towers fell, and that I couldn’t get home because all the roads were blocked, and that – for days on end – we could smell the stench of burning flesh across the water and the police checked every car crossing the bridges, so a one-hour commute became three, and that for weeks we were all waiting for the next bomb.

That was an awful time, but I feel worse now. Isn’t that crazy?

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