It was a nice day, and Dave had just left for the golf course, the Battenkill. We didn't have the TV on until after he left, but shortly after that I turned it on. The image was of a plane stuck in one of the World Trade Towers. At first, it didn't seem too serious, maybe a drunk or sick pilot. I hope nobody got hurt, I thought. The damage didn't seem that major. Until it did!
I was alone in the house and the bottom fell out of my world, and I felt the need to talk to somebody. I called the local relatives, but they weren't interested in talking about it, at least not to me. I called the golf course, and was told only that he was out on the course. I tried to call my kids, but they didn't answer their phones, were probably working. Only David called back soon. I think he had recently flown in from somewhere. He lived in his house on North Street then, and the perpetrators would have passed practically below his residence. Or something like that...
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