WEDNESDAY MORNING
Michael and his roommate were watching The Event on TV Tues AM when the second plane hit. A few minutes later they lost the broadcast, because the transmitters were on top of the World Trade Center. Now we’re stuck with sucky channel two, which comes from the Empire State Building. “We’re getting cable when this is over,” Michael’s roommate said last night. Assuming it will be over.
We ran into M.’s friend Emily Hofstetter (co-founder and
At yoga earlier I stood in line to kiss Guruji’s feet and told him my name. “You come to Mysore?” he asked. “Yes,” I said, “In January,” and he patted my cheek twice and said, “Good, good.” Now it doesn’t seem like such a sure thing.
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At night we tried to go back to Goodman’s. I brought bandannas in case of dust as well as a flashlight, passport, and contact lens stuff, in case we couldn’t come back. There was a checkpoint at Houston. After being foiled by one officer we took a different route. Michael lied and said we were staying there, gave the address. They let us through, saying, “As long as you’re not tourists going down to take pictures.” While the West Village was full of people with dogs/cell phones/cigarettes/hip outfits eating at the few restaurants that were open and cramming the bars that had cable, SoHo was a near-dead zone. We saw people camped out on the sidewalk on lawn chairs, listening to portable radios and talking quietly. Every once in a while you’d see exhausted people with stethoscopes, face masks, and scrubs walking home, dazed. There was a major convoy of earthmovers, rescue squads, and dump trucks in front of the fire station; also a dust-covered pickup with a large square hole in its windshield. After seeing the Goodmans, who were finishing up dinner and watching cable, we went back north to our place. On the way out, a civilian told us that we wouldn’t be able to get back in, and I doubt we’ll get to see the Goodmans today.
NOON WEDNESDAY
1:30 PM WEDNESDAY
