At first I'm sure it's going to be a great day. Sun out. Bright blue skies. The end of summer. Even the sirens and engines that have been wailing outside my apartment window for the last hour don't seem that unusual. Just, I assume, part of the hysteric clangour taken for granted by those who live in Manhattan. Only when I step out onto First Avenue to head downtown do things begin to seem strange. Hundreds of people are heading in my direction. Some are running. Mums are clutching young kids and looking over their shoulders fearfully. No cars or cabs, but police are everywhere. In the distance I see a huge black blob disfiguring the sky. Maybe a thunderstorm's brewing? I step in front of a fleeing office worker: 'Excuse me, but has something happened?' His answer comes out as barely comprehensible comic-book babble: 'The World Trade Center has been hit - it was a plane - enemies - terrorists - hijackers - the Pentagon too - the White House - Pittsburgh.'

LRB 4 October 2001 | PDF Download