9/11. I was by myself on Lake Michigan, that day. I didn't get television reception and couldn't use the dial-up internet. I drove to the closest bar and watched the television with the only other customer, a man who repaired washing machines for Whirlpool, Walt. That afternoon, I carried on with my interviews at a saw mill in Michigan. The owners were talking about Nostradamus, and I missed my home and friends, terribly. I don't think I touched anyone or hugged anyone for another week or two. I went to see my parents on one of the Jewish holidays, then returned back to my perch, alone. Juno called me and said "Come home. That doesn't sound like a good scene." Anne played that Paul Simon song that made me cry. I listened to it over and over.