9/11/0310:23 at night, on my umpteenth hour working, me and three co-workerrs - all native New Yorkers, all in their fifties - walked outside, stood in the middle of the 6th Avenue and stared at the twin columns of light.

On 9/11/01, I was single, had a secure job, was staring at the smoke and devastation from my apartment in the Bronx. Ungodly silence in the neighborhood. The el-train was silent. Everything. Frozen. Only sound in Kingsbridge is my girl weeping, not for the dead, but because we have an idiot in office who will screw everything up, and she knows they will call her Reserve unit up - not today, but soon.

9/12/01. At work, because what else could I do in the face of sheer immasculating horror? Death toll, unknown, many thousands. 7 pm, standing in the abandoned city. THE SMELL OF DEAD BODIES WAFTING UP 6TH AVENUE. It's not the same smell as one body, decomposed, fresh - there is no smell of blood. It's the smell of shit, rotting meat, burnt bacon... Manhattan ONE GIANT GRAVEYARD.

Two years later, I'm married, jobs are less secure, my wife has been gone almost 7 months, and all anyone can talk about is the smoking ban, dropping crime, our idiot president, strife in Israel, strife in Iraw, strife in California, what a lousy day we're having, how awful taxes are and all I can think about, standing in the middle of 6th Avenue is:

Bad as my days are, it can be no worse than the people buried where those twin columns of light are.

I miss the Twin Towers.

Ain't shit really good.