Other then the memories running through one's head, the most obvious difference in my morning walk to the Subway station is the police presences. Two to four officers stand at each corner with additional folks sprinkled about for good measure.
Police tow trucks are working or stand at the ready. A delivery truck that would normally go unnoticed on Church St. gets hauled away in a matter of minutes.
Looking south down the canyons of West St. and Greenwich there is an almost poetic pulse of emergency lights - the security that much tighter two blocks away encircling a giant construction site which isn't just another construction site.
One of the few variations on the above theme is a lone janitor adjusting the flag in front of my son's school to half mast.
Riding the A train north I was relieved to see a sight more common in the form of my slumbering early morning travel companions catching a few minutes sleep more before their stop approaches.
I know enough that my experiences and thoughts don't amount to very much. I've met enough friends of survivors and folks who were near by that day to know that much.
Those same men and women standing guard this morning will be replaced by men and women standing arm in arm toasting lost friends and colleagues in the local bars on my walk home.
The folks in the bars, riders on the subway, janitors leaving work, all of us remember a morning that wasn't just another.
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