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míol mór's note

The World Trade Center was under construction, already towering, twin-towering, with cranes tilted at the summits and work elevators sliding up the flanks. She saw it almost everywhere she went. She ate a meal and drank a glass of wine and walked to the rail or ledge and there it usually was, bulked up at the funneled end of the island, and a man stood next to her one evening, early, drinks on the roof of a gallery building--about sixty, she thought, portly and jowled but also sleek in a way, assured and contained and hard-polished, a substantial sort, European.
"I think of it as one, not two," she said. "Even though there are clearly two towers. It's a single entity, isn't it?"
"Very terrible thing but you have to look, I think."
"Yes, you have to look."


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