Letter From America

The first thing I notice is the smell. It isn’t just the caustic scent of burnt steel and jet fuel, familiar from the World Trade Center. It’s something human, the odor of death. The next things I notice are the mountains of gray dirt, stretching as far as I can see. A crane scoops from a pile and spreads it out; FBI agents swarm over it with shovels. These aren’t mere piles of dirt at all. They are the pulverized remains of the Twin Towers and all that was inside. …



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