Faith, Or The Opposite Of Pride
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Tori Amos
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September 11, 2001: 9:17 AM.
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Mood:
Numb

=================================================

Location: Work.
Listening: Silence.

They're already calling it "The Day America's Luck Ran Out".

They've got a cache of catchphrases ready to go and I've already heard several sentences in heavy rotation on various radio stations--except for Power 106, where the dj was one step away from weeping openly on the air.

I can't think of anything to say right now, really, because what can I say? Walking to my car this morning, I heard a woman screaming through an open window. She kept repeating "Flight 77" and sobbing. There is nothing to say to that. There is nothing to say to those people, their families, friends. In the wake of this, for the moment, there is nothing.



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