9/11 Short Stories

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5:09 p.m. All day i’ve been staring out the window, making friends with the raindrops that tap against my windowpane. They have all raced to the edge of the canvas I stare through. The clouds move in synchronization, perfectly. The streets in Brooklyn this afternoon have been much calmer than ever before, maybe because it’s raining. But nothing stops us New Yorkers, nothing at all. But out of all days, today is the day they’ve all seem to go quiet. It’s not 9/11, so why’re they silent?
Why have the taxis stopped honking their horns? Why have the businessmen stopped talking on their phones? Why’re the kid gangsters not picking on little Tommy today? Did they all die in this little rain storm? Have we been nuked by Russia?
I don’t know. …show more content…

The pandemonium is hilarious on the twenty-third floor, where I have settled in from the southern parts of Michigan.
My name is Carolyn Burgess, i’m here because of rehab. I was an alcoholic, an addict, you name it. I don’t care what you call me, i’ve been called every name in the book. But people like to call me the most famous, yet infamous, word: bitch. As I look outside the window again, the raindrops continue racing down. I can hear a few taxi horns here and there, but come on, it’s rush hour.
I need to hear, “Whatta

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