In the late afternoon of 9/11, my brother and I ventured out from his apartment onto the deserted streets, to withdraw a chunk of cash from an ATM, in the event that we were about to enter a Mad Max-style futuristic dystopia. Anything seemed possible on that day, with the Pentagon under attack and an unknown number of passenger planes still unaccounted for. In one of the few moments of levity in the day – at least in retrospect – we carried tennis rackets with us to ward off looters. We strolled down the empty Upper West Side like Bizarro-world Williams sisters, alert and on the balls of our feet, ready for the apocalypse.
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NEW from New English Review:
- Does Olivia Chow’s proposed handgun ban include the piece owned by Warren Kinsella’s girlfriend — who volunteers for Chow?
- Has Warren Kinsella resigned from Sun News yet? Day One
- What if G. Gordon Liddy had shown up at the Watergate, and the DNC office door was unlocked?
- Cops: unionized bureaucrats — with guns
- ‘I don’t understand the SlutWalk’
- Mark Steyn on one of the great recordings: Frank Sinatra’s ‘Fly Me To the Moon’
- Now I have to track down everything Julie Klausner’s ever done
- Tommy, last surviving Ramone, dies, aged 65 (or thereabouts)
- My tax dollars at play
- ‘Progressives’ live in the past
- Turkey's religious affairs head tells of fading Islamic values
- Shifa Hospital in Gaza City ‘Has Become a De Facto Headquarters for Hamas Leaders, Who Can Be Seen in Hallways and Offices’
- Pakistan: Four women sprayed with acid-filled syringe in Quetta market
- Evening photo: Tranquil snowy scene
- Worth a reread, twenty years later: ‘The Coming Anarchy’ by Robert Kaplan