Twenty years ago today, I was working at a photo service bureau on 5th Avenue and 31st Street in New York City. Needless to say, that day has stayed with me since then. Not to dwell on the immediate shock, nor the quagmire of societal trauma and dysfunction since then, I nevertheless have many things that I will never forget from those days in NYC in September 2001.
The city was abuzz with the prospect of another Yankees World Series appearance.
I would commute to the city everyday on a bus from NJ, including the requisite drive under the Hudson River through the Lincoln Tunnel.
I carried a Sony Discman in my backpack, and had a bootleg CD copy of Radiohead’s Amnesiac on repeat.
I also carried a Lomo LCA 35mm film camera with me on my commutes. Great for stealing shots on the streets of midtown Manhattan.
I would frequently eat lunch at a dive Indian joint, frequented by taxi drivers, which told me the food was legit.
I would sometimes sit in Madison Square Park near the Flatiron Building, feeling sad and lonely, and missing my life in New Mexico.
I worked on scanning and digital retouching of vintage homoerotica for an exclusive gallery. The artist was a cult legend from the Village scene in the 1960s, now living with bipolarism and obscurity.
That morning of September 11th was the start of a glorious fall day. The sky, blue; the weather, perfect.
After being dismissed from work, I walked from midtown up to the George Washington Bridge to get out of the city, fighter jets the only sound coming from the sky that afternoon.
I never looked back down Fifth Avenue on my way north.
I took no photos that day.
I hitchhiked a ride across the bridge and back to my apartment in Englewood, NJ from a very nice, very terrified Indian couple.
My pregnant sister, also working in midtown, had to be ferried across the Hudson to get home that night.
I developed a bad case of shingles about a week later.
I remember seeing gas masks for sale at the subway station near my job.
There were flyers for missing people all over the walls of the city.
My niece Julia was born on November 1st.
I returned to New Mexico in February 2002.