Chaos. There’s a theory about that, you know.
My phone buzzed with the news alert at the same time the elevator doors opened.
I shooed my FrankenZombie and Elena of Avalor inside, waited to see which one would win the scramble to push the button, then pulled out my phone.
A pickup truck had run over people in a bike lane downtown. Possible shots.
Please, no children.
I live in NYC and THAT was my only thought. I’ve gotten over being shocked by it all.
In my gut I knew what I’ve known, every time, since a second airplane flew into a tower 16 years ago: Of course this was deliberate.
I walked around the east side of Manhattan, letting my kids decipher a map of places to go trick-or-treat. I focused on creepy makeup and colorful costumes, giggles and squeals, the warm smiles and sparking eyes of adults who…
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