I know I have photos from the top, from my first time: the time I was absurdly dropped off in Times Square of all places because I sneaked on the charter bus from JFK. That was the brief time America was Manhattan and nothing else and I needed to see it from as high as possible because NYC demands the z-axis. The outside view was closed by the wind and I was glad of it. And I know I have photos of the February before from the building nearby with the indoor garden, photos from the corner office where those who worked there could see small planes follow the Hudson and wave at the pilots.
None of this belongs to me. I know that I stepped on a train in London late that morning and put on the radio and then there was news and I was still on the train and it all happened while I was still on the train and when I got off the train the local newspaper had put out a special edition with a pixellated low-resolution photo on the front page of what had been seen in real time, mediated and unmediated, by so many people who were not on a train.
None of this belongs to me. I have memories. I am close to the memories of others. That is all.