The highway looked like a refugee evacuation. Silent, in shock, people trudged north, enveloped in clouds of smoke. Someone shouted that the World Trade Center collapsed. A woman standing on the highway handed me a dust mask. Another stopped me and said, "you're bleeding." I hadn't noticed gashes on my hand and arm.
She poured water on the wounds and dried them.
A policeman urged people to keep walking. The Brooklyn Bridge was open for pedestrians, he said, suggesting the stream of tourists and financial district workers get out of Manhattan.
A news van drove slowly by with a cameraman I knew. He picked me up and drove north, past the stunned and silent people, back to our newsroom in midtown Manhattan.
I thought of the policeman who had warned me to leave the area shortly before the third explosion when the World Trade Center collapsed. He insisted I go. I told him I was a reporter.
Give me a break, I pleaded.
"There are no breaks for anyone today," he said.
RSS