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I was searching through my piles of notebooks today, and I stumbled across my writers notebook from fall of 2001. In there I found a story I had written a couple days after 9/11. I don't know what I think about it. I don't know if I should have even touched the subject. It's not all that, but I guess it's my way of remembering today. Or something. I really don't know.

Thomas had been drinking since noon yesterday. Most of the alcohol was gone now. He had started with his gin, moved to vodka, and now was forced to drain his champaign reserves. He simply didn't care that his $100 bottle of chardonnay was empty, and he was halfway through the next one. He just needed to b e drunk.

"Thomas?" asked a tentative voice from the doorway. The feminine voice was tinged with hesitation as it made its way through the penthouse apartment.

"Thomas?" the voice called again, now a bit worried and accompanied by her footsteps on the polished hardwood floor.

"Come on in Joanne. Come join the party," Thomas called and struggled out of his Italian leather armchair. Bottles clinked and rolled around his feet causing Thomas to wobble. Joanne rushed in and tried to stabilize him. He smelled horrible, alcohol leaking from his pores.

"Thomas, careful, sit back down, I'll get you some water."

"No!" shouted Thomas, and he moved over to the marble topped bar, groping around for bottles. He set his hands on the top and laughed. It was a cold, hallow laugh and Joanne backed away.

"Look out that window, Joanne," said Thomas, pointed at the floor to ceiling pane of glass. "That view, that one view is why this apartment is so damn expensive. It's why I had to have this place. That damn view. And now look at it!" Thomas flung an empty bottle at the window that overlooked the Manhattan Skyline. A dusty cloud still hung over it and the skeletal remains of the Twin Towers. The Bottled smashed against the window, which remained unbroken.

"What a view, eh? What an amazing, million dollar view, right?" He moved to the window, shards of glass crunching under his wingtips. "That's what I get to spend the rest of my life looking at. How great is that?" He leaned against the glass.

Joanne moved over to him and placed her arm around his shoulders.

"At least you didn't go in yesterday." Thomas turned and anger flashed across his face. He grabbed Joanne's shoulders and shook her.

"But I should have!" he yelled. "I should have gone in! But I called in sick. I'm the boss and I called in fucking sick. Look at that!" He cried, and pushed Joanne up against the glass. "See that? Do you see that?" He smashed her face against the cold glass. "My employees are buried in that and I called in sick. How fair is that Joanne? How fair is that?"

Joanne had started to cry, her tears leaving smears of mascara on the glass. Thomas pushed her again then moved over to his armchair. He sank down and buried his head in his hands. Joanne slid down the glass to the floor, sobbing and leaving long streak of mascara. Thomas looked at her, his own face stained with tears.

"Why me? I have fifty people working for me, why was I saved?"