My pregnant wife was helping her little brother move in the Bowery September 10, they didn’t get finished until after midnight. I begged her to stay but she insisted on driving back to Connecticut, arriving after 2 AM.

The next day we watched in agony, both of her brothers and their children trapped below Houston Street in the aftermath.

Just like you, I blindly carried water for W. And I will never forgive. Jet fuel doesn’t melt steel and Building 7 didn’t hang itself.

The indignities that we will suffer in the coming months and years while we eradicate the pestilence in our marble halls is our precious gift to Patriots yet unborn.

I don’t care how long it takes, with cloudy eyes and thinning hair we will one day look upon the foundations that we have rebuilt to honor patriots that have gone before.

Somebody has to do it.
Who better than scrappy Gen X, raised on Saturday morning cartoons and Sunday School Bible drills.

Pay it forward indeed.