The scene is terrifying. Ash is falling from the sky, and the sky is darker than it should be this time of day. People are running through the debris and mud; many are holding jackets over their heads and handkerchiefs over their mouths. Some have taken shelter under cars. A man in a suit, holding a briefcase, sees smoke, ash, and debris flying around him on all sides. Otherworldly things are happening in the unexpected morning darkness. It is noisy and unnatural.
Faces are a thousand feet above, looking down, and there is a stench of burning fuel and the sound of sirens. There is something else, something that does not belong: a shirt is coming down out of the high smoke. He watches it as it drifts and falls near the river.
Many people have stopped to look back at the “writhing lives” and “scorched objects” behind them. Someone steps out of a doorway and hands him a bottle of water; he is unable to use his left arm. He is wounded but still walking. Policemen and security guards, hands on the butts of their guns, are running into the chaos.
Around him people are “shedding water” from the sprinkler systems, and personal items of all kinds are lying discarded in the streets: laptops and handbags and shoes, as well as masses of paper including resumes, contracts, and business documents. People are running then stopping in disbelief, many of them veering down side streets. There is fire, smoke, and ash. Runners out for their morning jog cannot believe what they see, and members of the tai chi group in the park appear to be posed in mid-air, arms and hands extended.
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