I wake up, for the fourth day in a row, to helicopters hovering over the New York harbor. Heightened security. Because the world is angry. And we pretend we are prepared.
Two young boys run with bombs strapped to their backs. Boston, a city I love, have lived in, where people I love still live, empties itself of all its life, forced behind closed doors. There’s a manhunt on the streets. The stuff of Hollywood thrillers. But this is real life.
I ride my bicycle through the streets of Mahnhattan and a cab driver rolls down his window just to shout, for no reason, to tell me to get the f*** off the road. When I ask, out loud, confused, from my seat, in the wind, on the pavement, in this place I live and ride and love, are you kidding me? He says, firm, confident, I am not f***ing kidding you.
No one is kidding anyone.
These are serious times. The world is angry. And it hurts to watch.