It’s weird how stories and images of Sept. 11 pop up and stick with you now and then.
I was lucky enough to grab a ride to the train this morning with a nice Irish lady that lives near me . She’d seen me biking on other days while on her morning walk, and asked me why I wasn’t biking today. She then told me about a guy from the neighborhood who would sometimes pick her son up to go to the train, and would sometimes ride a bike. She said he was a Cantor-Fitzgerald guy who died on 9-11, and how her son found out only after seeing the guy’s bike chained up at the station for weeks after, and wondering why the bike had been left behind.
I was thankful for the ride, but that one was sort of hard to shake.