that day. The one day in my life that hasn't been tainted by foggy recollections. It is as clear to me now as it was then. Every year, I remember those who fell and risked their lives. I remember on days that are as beautiful as that disastrous day began.
I remember walking to the F-train with Jeff. It was an incredible day. Clear skies. It was going to be a good day. I had just started my second week of a photographer's dream job working at MoMA. As I stepped out of the subway, there was a weird buzz amongst the people on the street. It wasn't until I walked into the museum that I heard the news of the first plane. Surely, I was misinformed, I thought. It couldn't be. At the time we were still living in Brooklyn and could see the tops of the towers from our apartment.. how strange I thought they would look with a big chunk taken out of one.
I turned on the radio. Howard Stern. Chills. Anxiety. Panic.. as I listened to the events unfold. Utter disbelief. To this day, I still can't fathom. To this day when I see photos of those beautiful creations, I still have a hard time believing that it really happened. It did.
Unlike the thousands of people who didn't make it home that day, we fortunately did. And I will never forget. The ash, the smoke, the fighter planes.. the smell. Today, I remember all of the courage and people who gave their lives that day.
the day after. from the brooklyn heights promenade.
near ground zero. approximately one week later.



the lights. one year later. from our brooklyn apartment.