A different place. But not.

We were living south of where we are now, and my office was upstairs. I was puttering around, surfing through the morning on a Tuesday, working on my second cup of coffee, but still not fully present. B. called up to me from downstairs, watching morning news programming and doing her own wake-up routine, to tell me a plane had flown into a building in New York.

I remember calling back to her with the profound comment of, “What?!”

In my head, some dumbass in a Cessna had probably decided to make his personal sendoff a look-at-me, aren’t-I-special Viking funeral. It turned out I was 2/3rds right, or a fractional version of that if you want to nitpick the Viking part.…

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