There's a Road to Everywhere Except Where You Came From: A Memoir
Bryan Charles
Language: English
Pages: 254
ISBN: 1890447579
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
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I walked through the East Village, down to Canal Street, and then back up into Washington Square Park. The park was relatively empty. I sat on a bench looking at the World Trade Center. Everywhere I turned I could see the towers. The sight of them filled me with a vague sense of guilt. I walked to Carmine Street and met Baines at his pad. We went to the Waverly diner for lunch. After that I walked up Sixth Avenue to Twentieth Street, stopped at Lava, and saw Erin. She was sitting alone in the big
spent a morning at my desk giving it a thorough going-over at his request. —It was strange, he said. —I mean one day I’m sitting there and I get a phone call and they patch me through to George Plimpton. —What did he say? —Not much. He gave me his edits. They were slight, just a line or two. I hung up thinking, man, I don’t know. —What? —How could they want to publish this story that’s so clearly full of holes? —Meaning your story? —Yeah. You read it. —Yes I did. —It needs work. We
Frank drove in from Long Island and picked me up at my place. Patrick and Mattie were with him. We drove to Forest Hills and found Jenny’s building. When I saw her come out my heart did weird things. It was the first time I’d seen her—or anyone in my group—since the attack. She squeezed into the back with Patrick and Mattie. She asked what kind of food we were in the mood for. We discussed it for a minute, settling on Chinese. Jenny directed us to a sit-down joint she knew. It was empty. The
tray of cookies in front of a new establishment called Cookie Island. A banner over the sign said GRAND OPENING. The woman smiled helplessly as we approached. —Free sample? she said. —Sure. We each took a cookie and ate. Shortly before the attack, as a result of Bush’s massive tax overhaul, I’d received my three hundred dollar rebate check from the government. I brought the check to work and put it in a drawer. Along with a folder of old manuscripts it was the only thing of any value in my
each one of us was carried to safety on the back of a cool-headed fireman. No, the only official word we got was that things were under control and to go sit back down. Wasn’t there anything heroic about confused and scared-shitless office workers keeping it together—banding together—enough to buck the odds and make it out alive? **** The terrible days passed. I waited for the other shoe to drop. Every time the subway or PATH train slowed to a halt in the tunnel a deep sense of unease would
