I was in NY on 9/11. My apartment was next to St. Vincent’s where they planned to bring survivors. I rode a bus up to Columbia Hospital to give blood, but ended up just registering the busloads of donors. The day is worth more than this short prose, but not the topic of the moment.
By Thursday the city was still pretty shut down. My AC was filled with dust/debris, so it wasn’t pumping out any cool air. We were all still stunned, but also apprehensive of a follow up — either in NY or some other city. I remember calling Paul and asking him to stay clear of the Golden Gate Bridge for awhile. Then one of my friends suggested “instead of us sitting around feeling numb, we still have a house together, let’s head out of town and personally regroup.” It turned out to be just what everyone needed.
My most treasured image of that week is half-mast flag on Georgica Beach. The colors matched the mood.