I was waiting in line at the café this morning when this photograph on the cover of the New York Times caught my eye. It was arresting. And devastating.
I don’t know how long I stared at it; I was still uncaffeinated and still kind of feeling the previous night’s vodka and in this sort of daze that threatened to turn emotional at any moment. Another patron asked if I was waiting in line. I told her I wasn’t; I needed to keep staring.
What a terrible thing we did over there. What a terrible thing that we chose to stop talking about it, that we chose to forget about it.
