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September 11, 2011

When we lived in New York, I would occasionally make the trek to the World Trade Center for one reason or other. I remember the massive, stark courtyard with the giant spherical sculpture in the shadow of the two enormous striped buildings. At lunch time on a nice day, all the suits would bring their sandwiches outside and eat them before dashing back inside to broker financial power. On cold days, or drizzly days, it was deserted, a good place to be alone while at the same time feeling connected. Everyone felt it, the connection: the financial guys, the sandwich vendors, the overworked coffee baristas, the shoe shine guys. It was “it,” where it all happened, and everyone was part of it.

It was a good place, and the people who worked there were good people.

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