On the night of 9/11, I opened the bedroom window to
deserted streets in front of a funeral parlor. Ashes of ashes had drifted miles
away from Ground Zero. The South Bronx was lightly scented with cremation. It’s
made my assignment more difficult.
This journal is in submission to future historians and to a
Higher Authority.
This eyewitness has to report the unreported facts.
Like Walter Cronkite said, get the story right.
Hell to pay if you don’t pursue truth.
Have no doubt I’m in hot pursuit.
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