6:45. I heard about the terrorist attacks during my morning ritual of fifteen minutes of coffee and morning news. My six year old now knows the word, Al Qaeda. Cuddled next to me in his SpiderMan pajamas, I gave him the briefest of details, but also didn’t change the channel. He can’t be sheltered anymore, because I fear this is his future.

I panicked and called Steve’s office knowing that there was no way that he was there yet, but I guess I just needed to know that his office was still there. He takes the bus or train into Manhattan every day and works in Times Square. I won’t feel good until he’s home tonight. He’ll have to pass bomb sniffing dogs to get onto his bus.

Oh, I hear fire alarms. What’s going on?

I need to send e-mails to friends in London.

Living with Terror.

UPDATE: A friend in London has been e-mailing me. First to let me know that she’s okay. (Steve, Joy’s okay.) Surprisingly, she’s still in her office which is right in the financial district. Steve was booted out immediately from his major Wall Street firm during 9/11. But since transportation was the target rather than buildings in London, they’re keeping people inside until things calm down on the streets.

She also mentioned that she has a long walk home and doesn’t have sensible walking shoes. Just those pointy office shoes. Whenever I compare notes with others who were in Manhattan during 9/11, the question “What shoes were you wearing?” always comes up. The little dumb parts of this drama that draws people together.

The leaders of the G8 have been right to contrast their work with the work of the terrorists. The lines of good and evil, civilized and barbaric, have never been so clearly drawn.

UPDATE: So you can pack up your bombs, put them in your arseholes, and get the fuck out of our city. Andrew Sullivan has this and more.

UPDATE:: Norm Geras counts the atrocities.