It’s Monday. I had the day off on Friday and today. A birthday break for myself. I’m glad I did it, though it was up and down for me somewhat. Nothing bad, just weird, unsettling feelings that popped up every now and then, and I kept those feelings to myself. At least, until now.

Over 1400 words posted on Friday. I made it to Kidding Around, a charming little store on West 15th Street. Came home to Bill who was so great this weekend. He went out of my way to make sure I was having a good weekend, and thanks to Bill, I did. It was those times alone when the oddness crept in.

Odd dreams occurred as well. Sometimes disturbing. One had a song by Boz Scaggs, Love Me Tomorrow. An attempt at reggae, I guess. The album Silk Degrees came out in 1976, and reggae was still relatively new to white North American ears. Not the best song on the album, and it played over and over in my dreams.

Saturday morning, Bill was on his way back, and he told me what the plan was for my birthday night. I had a feeling it was a show of some sort. At 5:42 AM, he sent a text: we were going to see ‘In Honor of Jean-Michel Basquiat. A one-man show by Roger Guenveur Smith.

Roger Guenveur Smith was in a few Spike Lee movies. I reminded Bill that his character ‘Smiley’ was the one who started the fire at Sal’s Pizza in Do the Right Thing. The show was about his friendship with Jean-Michel back in the day, initially meeting at a club in Southern California where Roger was rapping and Jean-Michel was dancing.

It was enjoyable, but what was even better was getting off the Path train at Christopher Street and walking across town to the East Village where the show was. It was a pleasant walk, me smoking a cigar or course and having good conversations with Bill.

The show was about an hour long so the walk back was pleasant and we wound up at Grimaldi’s in Hoboken for what is turning out to be a tradition. We both like their pizza very much so everyone wins!

Sunday was a trip to Saddle Brook where my Grand Niece Shelby turned 6 on Thursday. It was supposed to be a barbecue but there was a crazy rainstorm on Sunday morning and though it ended by the afternoon, everything was wet and it was terribly humid.

The food was barbecued, and we ate indoors. My nieces Meghan and Corrine, Meghan’s husband Rob, did the cooking; Shelby was entertaining. Elaine was there as was my brother Brian and his wife Karen, and their daughter Hillary and her boyfriend Seth. Hillary is living in Lodi now.

We were on the train back to Hoboken at 6 PM and had another nice walk home. Bill has been so great. I look in his eyes and see the love he has for me. I hope he sees the same in my eyes. Not much sleep despite all of my attempts. I wisely got out of bed when unable to sleep. It was better than trying to sleep and getting frustrated.

Sleep did come and I slept a little bit later than usual on my days off. I had a plan to go bike riding today since I did not do my usual Sunday jaunt. And I got a haircut. It had been over a year since the last time and Nick the barber also trimmed my beard considerably.

The bike ride was lowkey. Instead of riding to Liberty State Park, I headed to North Bergen. I figured the streets would be crowded with business and traffic in Jersey City where getting to North Bergen is pleasant and has a walkway along the Hudson River which was easily accessed.

I got home and Bill headed out a little while after. The past week or so we had a problem with the bathtub drain. Whereas it would take an hour to drain, the past few days it did not drain at all. Bill used the wet-vac the past couple of days and I wet-vacced today.

Roberto, the handyman finally showed up after Bill was in contact with him for a few weeks. And Roberto fixed it within 15 minutes and then I made my usual pesto, pasta and chicken dinner. Half for tonight, the other half for lunch tomorrow, when I go back to my fruit stand.

It’s a beautiful Friday. I just woke up from a nap. I slept very well last night and napped because I could. If someone is reading this, this could easily lead to you taking a nap. Go ahead. I wouldn’t be offended. I do love to sleep.

The first thought in my head when I wake up is that I just want to sleep more. That was not the case this morning. The alarm went off at 8AM but I silenced it and kept on sleeping to 9AM.

Bill is on the road. Mike has been waylaid with a cold and does not want to spread it to me or Bill. It’s a nice sentiment. I guess I would have done the same.

I did have a plan for today. Do laundry, go grocery shopping and head to Manhattan to purchase a gift for my grand niece, Shelby who is 6 years old. I had hoped to do that on Thursday after work but I was in the belly of the fruit stand and the toy store was right around the corner from the usual fruit stand but it was not to be.

It was an easy trip in and out of Manhattan. I had hoped Mike would have joined me since he still has that enthusiasm for New York City that I used to have, but when you go in and out Monday to Friday, that enthusiasm wanes. I plan on grocery shopping tomorrow.

It’s September 11. 25 years ago was when the tragedy occurred. I remember it all like it was yesterday. I remember the night before going to a restaurant on Tenth Avenue to celebrate Donna Kloepfer’s birthday. Bill and I made an appearance. A couple of familiar faces at a long table with many unknown faces.

Bill and I left and the skies opened up. We were very nearly soaked but I am sure we had good umbrellas that got me to the bus terminal and got Bill to the subway. I made it home to Weehawken that Monday night and was soon asleep ready to start the new day.

I had a charcoal gray pinstrip suit by Bill Blass, a nice shirt and tie and of course dress shoes. That was my thing back then. I remember walking to work at 10 east 40th Street for Staffmark, thinking to myself what a gorgeous day it was.

I was on time, and sat at my desk as the day began. A few minutes after 8:46 the friendly FedEx guy mentioned that a plane hit one of the Twin Towers. I thought it odd, it must’ve been a Cessna or a Piper Cub. I walked towards the windows where there was a view downtown and it looked like something took a bite out of the tower.

I went back to my desk. There was nothing I could do, I seemed like an accident. About 15 minutes later I heard a scream and ran back to the windows where I saw the fireball after the second plane hit the south tower. As I stood there, I thought to myself I had better get out of bed, this is just a bad dream.

It was no dream. There was no TV. No one had a radio. The internet in 2001 didn’t provide much, and if it did we had no speakers to hear anything. A woman I sat next to, Gerri Delaney came in after dropping off her son at school.

Gerri was on the subway and didn’t know anything. I advised her to go get her son and go home. She did not want to do that. Maybe she didn’t think it was so bad, maybe she didn’t want to miss out on getting paid for a day of work.

I sat at my desk and had a cigarette. I felt if the world was ending, who’s going to be mad at me for smoking at my desk? So many rumors were floating around. We heard the Washington Mall was under attack. We heard about the Pentagon and a plane going down in Shanksville, PA. Those were the only truths known.

Then I witnessed the towers collapse. More screaming. A guy I worked with mentioned his brother was in one of the towers. He did not make it out.

At one point I had the sense to slip out and run over to Duane Reade where I withdrew $200 from the ATM. I figured in a time like this cash would be good to have.

I made it back to my desk and we were told to go home. Gerri Delaney and I rode down the elevator to the street. On 40th Street there was a sonic boom. An Air Force fighter appeared creating the sonic boom which caused panic. We were across the street from a target, the public library and hundreds of people were running in our direction. I grabbed Gerri and we stood against the wall of 10 east 40th Street and watched as everyone ran past.

Looking up I noticed the wall we were up against was a glass facade and if anything should happen to that glass we’d be sliced up. We went back to the office to rethink our plans. Soon, Gerri was off to get her son and I headed west.

The buses were not running since the Lincoln Tunnel was shut down. I wandered under the Port Authority terminal realizing I was in another target, No one knew anything and just about anything was a target that day.

It was a beautiful day and I saw the line for the ferries was about 10 people deep and stretched about a half mile in the hot afternoon sun. My dear friend Rita lived nearby and I called to ask if I could come over. She was home and invited me up. Her boyfriend Jerry was there as well. The TV had the horrible stories coming out, a man helping someone in a wheelchair in the towers, trying to navigate the starways. They never made it out. That devastated me.

Bill called. He was going through similar drama and was done taking people to Staten Island on his bus. He somehow made it to Manhattan and over to Rita’s apartment. We talked and he had a moment where he was in Rita’s bedroom where he just let it all out and cried about the horror we were in.

At some point, Jerry, Bill and myself made it to the rooftop where we saw 7 World Trade Center collapse. Rita was working for a store on Sixth Avenue and they insisted that she come into work. Without a choice, Rita went to work.

Bill and I stayed for a little while then we too left. Bill was going to his parents in Stuyvesant Town and I got on a ferry back to NJ. I picked up some pizza on my way home and knocked on the door of my neighbor at 127 Jane St.

Fred Kleinke worked down in that area. I checked to see if he was OK and offered him some pizza. He seemed surprised, probably because he was on the spectrum and with his sister Pattie, always tried to kick me out of the apartment. His mother Adele Kleinke always stood up for me against her children. And here I was being concerned for his well being, concerned for someone who actively tried to throw me out.

I watched the TV, numb and eating mediocre pizza in my apartment. The next day was my 39th birthday. I spent the day crying.

In 2001, I watched the towers fall from an office in midtown Manhattan. In 2014 I began working for Fred Alger Management, a financial company that lost 35 employees in the towers. They were all still understandably damaged years later. A woman I reported to had a crushing burden of being alive due to a schedule change.

She needed to take that fateful Tuesday off and someone who had off swapped with her. That someone was supposed to be married that following Saturday. Survivors’ guilt. Fred Alger Management fired me in 2019.

In 2021 I worked for Barasch & McGarry, a law firm a block or so away from where the towers stood. Another company filled with damaged people working with people that were sick and dying from the after effects of the towers collapsing. A depressing job trying to assist sick and dying people. They let me go in 2024.

25 years later, it’s another beautiful day. I will be 64 tomorrow. The people that I worked with at Staffmark in 2001 are not in my life. Nor are the damaged people at Fred Alger Management. Some have passed away. The Barasch McGarry people are nonexistent to me.