All of a sudden I realize police are screaming “RUN, RUN” and gesturing wildly uptown. A huge cloud of dust and debris is racing with frightening speed up Broadway towards us, chasing hordes of fleeing people. I gape in amazement then come to my senses and run east on Chambers. Suddenly the air is filled with dust and concrete debris, tiny fragments of steel, aluminum and glass. People are crying, yelling, staring, pointing, coughing, gasping and wheezing. A plainclothes detective with a gold shield hanging from his neck on a chain attempts to direct but he’s totally ignored. The massive crowd swirls around him like the molecules of a grimy torrent.

Back at the subway entrance, I go downstairs to see a phalanx of police blocking the turnstiles. They gruffly inform us that the subways aren’t running. The air is a haze of dust and grit. Swirling particles of debris are sparkling everywhere in the bright sun as I return to street level. I head uptown on Centre Street, walking next to a businessman covered from head to foot in a thick layer of gritty dust. Before I can raise my camera he’s out of range. My mouth is filled with grit and the metallic taste of fear.