IT’S MIDNIGHT ON SEPTEMBER 11, 2011, ten years after the World Trade Center attack. We’re walking down the train tracks, each carrying a scale model of one of the twin towers. Gravel crunches under our shoes. The cardboard buildings are taller than we are; tiny bodies dangle from the windows, rapping against the hollow walls at each step. The full moon shines down from the top of the sky, making a tremendous stage of the world with our tiny silhouettes in the center: Quixote and Panza, Vladimir and Estragon.
Along with his building, my friend carries a placard inscribed with a manifesto:
In Praise of the Jumper
Midnight on September 11 / In Praise of the Jumper
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