i was sleeping when my girl friend phoned to tell me a plane had just hit one of the world trade towers. Back then, i knew as much about baseball rivalry as i knew about terrorism and algata. I walked down west broadway to where the wilbrkin store used to be. The windows were covered with brown paper and ancient advertisements for luxury spedos. When i asked this morning, i flipped back to the front page of the document. It was an image of the twin towers collapsing on to a crowd of firemen, policemen and civilians decked out in business attire. There were a number of contact emales and phone numbers. And so i went homeon nine