He would not have remembered. The day would have moved along as any other, had he not looked at the World’s events, something he rarely did. Even as he stared at photographs of the new Tower, rising in glassy defiance, it was slow to register. Today, he thought, it was today. He had shut from his mind, long ago, the more horrific images of those who chose to jump. They tore too deeply at his gut. But he saw now the flames, the spire of smoke, the absence on the skyline. He would not have remembered. The day would have moved along as any other. But he carried the day with him. He felt its weight, silent as a stone.