Are You OK?

Trying to Get the Word Out From the Surreal City in Disaster

On 96th Street, Sunday, Jay Medina from the Bronx told me his friend who was missing for a day and a half because he was hit on the head and taken to a hospital was OK. I rode down the West Side Highway, and there were refrigerated "remains" trucks parked outside a makeshift morgue. A gigantic white Navy hospital ship with red crosses on the side was moored further down. To my left was a tiny camouflaged army tank. "I take refuge in the Buddha, the dharma, and the sangha." This is both a vow and an explanation that, for me, peace has to be the way. No vengeance. No more killing.

As of this weekend, Sareve Dukat, across the hall from me, has not been found.

E-mail from Jesus Diaz: "Jon Simonds recalls how his father, Harold, a cab driver for 30 years who lived in Bensonhurst, would figure out the weather. 'We could see the towers from outside our kitchen window. For many years he would tell us if it was going to rain, or be one of those muggy days, just by the way the clouds formed around the towers. We didn't need a radio.' We both agreed Harold's Tuesday forecast would have been,'I can see the towers. It's gonna be a beautiful day—there's not a cloud in the sky.' "

E-mail from Doug Matsouoka in Hawaii:

"When you get a chance just hit the reply button. OK?"

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