Thursday, 15 November 2001 | The Marriott

I've thought about this picture a few times since September 11th, but for some reason I hadn't looked at it until putting it in a photo album a couple days ago. It's just a picture taken from my hotel room in New York last March, a colorless picture with a glare, one that I barely remember taking. The only thing that makes it significant is that I was staying at the World Trade Center Marriott, something I haven't heard mention of since the 11th, but something I'm certain no longer exists. I had gone there on a business trip (which sounds much more official than it actually was) and spent three days in different hotel conference rooms, listening to people speak Spanish (I don't speak Spanish), spending time with my laptop, eating tasty, overpriced food, and, evenings, heading up to East Village to hang out with my old friend Natasha.

I don't claim to be directly affected by what happened on the 11th, but it is strange to think about the room where I slept and made phone calls and brushed my teeth, the square where I eyed kitschy stands full of busy postcards and oil paintings, the conference room where I burned my thumb by sticking it in my near-boiling coffee, the conference room where I soaked my thumb in a mug of crushed ice for two hours—it's strange to think that those places simply no longer exist. They only remain as pieces of my memory and as one colorless picture with a glare.

My last day there, I chatted with a humorous porter on the outside steps while I waited for my ride. I wonder if he's okay.

***

Tomorrow morning I'm leaving for West Virginia, but I'll be bringing my computer.