It was not a street anymore but a world, a time and space of falling ash and near night… The roar was still in the air, the buckling rumble of the fall. This was the world now. Smoke and ash came rolling down streets and turning corners, bursting around corners, seismic tides of smoke, with office paper flashing past, standard sheets with cutting edge, skimming, whipping past, otherworldly things in the morning pall.1 Whatever we were doing that day, almost ten years ago, we stopped to look. We all have an image in our minds of those towers, the planes, the pentagon, the field in Pennsylvania. At some point we…