I left home with just my keys because I had planned to walk a couple of blocks. Instead, I ended up walking over four miles to the Brooklyn Promenade, where I sat on a bench facing the World Trade Center.
Smoke and ashes from the burning twin towers wafted across the East River. I, along with hundreds of Brooklynites, sat in complete silence until we were ordered to leave out of concern that the ashes contained asbestos. Up until that point, I hadn’t even noticed that I was covered with a fine dust.
On my bookcase, I have a decorative Mason jar filled with the pulverized dust from Ground Zero that was scooped up by my dear friend Kevin (I’m looking at it as I write this post). So, I don’t need a Pentagon-sponsored hoedown to remember the victims of 9/11.
In the coming days, President Bush will likely repeat his bogus claim that there is a link between Iraq and the devastation wrought by a handful of mostly Saudi cowards and a Saudi madman.
But like 59 percent of Americans (and here), I’ve had a bellyful of Bush – and his delusions about the Iraq debacle (here and here).
