It’s the day after, or it was when this draft was written. Actually, it’s now been two days since I rework this post from memory, as opposed to transcribing from my notebook.
I awake to the sound of ambulances wailing – the same noises that I had fallen asleep to minus the intermittent howls of the wind. The lights don’t work. The router seems to be off. Yup, the power is still out. The cellphones don’t seem to be ringing or making any sort of noise; I look over and it’s because they haven’t a signal. At least the water is running, albeit only cold. I figured that it might be worth a look to go outside.
The streets are crowded – perhaps even more busied in this daylight than it has ever been on a Friday night. Couples walk hand-in-hand, kids carry broken branches, and singles look to their cellphone hoping for some kind of service from the fallen towers.
Not all the storefronts are closed, but most of them are, with their garage-like doors pulled down and barred from entry. You wouldn’t think that there are stores open in the East Village barring the fact that there are lines leading out from the door and wrapping around the street corner.
There is no light inside.
After all, the power is out for most of downtown Manhattan. People look around, in an orderly fashion, in the dark for the basics. Some kitchens are firing up, and the smells can be wafted from the streets as they serve up pizza and cheap Chinese eats to hungry patrons.
All the glitz that one would associate with the city is gone – the impossibly high heels, the suavely dressed men, and neatly coiffed children, all of whom have Starbucks in tow. Now, it’s the little things that seemed to be missed and that people are in search for – the piping hot slice of cheese pizza, the small cup of coffee, and the somewhat ambivalent cellphone service in the East Village.