Tuesday, July 2:|
This morning my eldest son hands me two pieces of paper with wavy scribbles on them.
He said "Here Papa, I wrote these for you, do you want to know what it says?"
"Yes Enzo, please do tell me what they say."
Looking at them presciently like a soothsayer he read, "Well this one says 'Papa, don't go to work,' and that one also says 'Papa, don't go to work.'"
I told him that I wish I did not have to go, but that I would carry them with me to remind me to get home as soon as possible.
I couldn't help but manipulate the occasion as a sign of some sort to befit the milieu. As I walked to work all the headlines rang warnings of the impending doom awaiting those brave enough to remain in Manhattan for the looming Fourth of July celebrations.
Along the way I looked at every building as if it might prove to be the last time I saw it. Walking down Eight Avenue, every street intersection offered a view of the Empire State Building, the one landmark which surely had to be the next target.
I also thought were these guys really set on terrorizing on only notable days? Wouldn't it be more effective to hit when we least expected it? Like today even? Striking a few days before Independence Day would strike utter panic, virtually shutting down the City for the next week at least. Plus, there were potentially significantly more victims to be had now, then later, because many people were planning to go away for the holidays.
hinc illae lacrimae.