André Souroujon / VV Archive
“Get up here. You’re writing,” Don Forst, the Voice’s editor, commanded. I had called him after waiting in line to use a phone booth in Lower Manhattan to tell him what I had just seen: First, as I came up from the subway station at Chambers and Church, a flaming hole at the top of one of the World Trade Towers. And then, the second plane, gliding through a cerulean sky and piercing the other tower. I stood aghast with a small crowd of New Yorkers and wondered at the primal sound that streamed out
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