We walked along the Promenade and watched Manhattan, aswarm with helicopters. Jackie kept running away to hide from her cousin, behind a concrete wall. I worried that she would keep hiding there after no one looked for her. It was heartbreaking to turn the corner and see her in the shadows, a little crouched, waiting, ready to wait forever maybe.

On the platform later on, in a rush, we weren’t sure where this train was going. We needed downtown. Sara asked a couple times as I straddled the threshold. No answer. The train had the ordinary number of passengers, arrayed in clusters here and there. One was sleeping. Another, a woman, stared at us blankly. The doors were convulsing. We had to decide. We entered.

“Where is this train going?” I asked harshly. Angrily. As though it even mattered now.

“Downtown,” she replied calmly.