Thursday, September 11, 2008

100 Words - 47

I'm a New York native. It was an office building to me not a tourist site. It was my marker when I walked around the Financial District. I shopped in its mall. I remember with my senses. The sound of a city that became quiet, its heartbeat slowed. The sight of tanks going down the avenues. Candles, fliers, flowers and fighter jets overhead. Hymns at Father Mychael Judge's memorial. I knew him. But the worst memory is the smell. I smelled chemicals and Something Else, the Smell No One Wanted to Name. I will never forget that smell. Burning Flesh.

--from Forever Reaching

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