Around 4pm, the radio announced that subway trains were running again. I walked as far south as I could to find an open station and got on an E train, the only one heading Brooklynwards, and took it as far it went. I stood on the bridge over the fuel-filmed Gowanus Canal crying, staring at the cavity in the sky. My wife, Laura, drove to meet me in her Toyota. And when I got home, for the first time in 33 years, I could not listen to music.

I'm still pissed off they killed Barbara Olson and I don't want to listen to music when I think about it.  This isn't over by a long shot.  The U.S. will never satisfy its appetite for dead Islamic extremists.  Even whey they are killing each other it is enjoyable.