For the first time in its long history, New York City is silent. Fear is palpable in the air. You see it in the eyes of the workers in the grocery store, the pharmacy, and the corner deli. These are almost all people of color. They tell you they are thankful for the work but also know they are risking their lives and the lives of their loved ones by working. It's a terrible calculus. During this extended period of confinement, I've been biking all around Manhattan, trying to keep my distance, but also endeavoring to get some exercise and fresh air and take in what's happened to my hometown. I was born and raised on the island, but the familiar streets are now empty and alien. On one ride, I took the West Side bike path downtown, the same route where a terrorist mowed down unsuspecting cyclists with a truck a few years back. The fountains at the 9/11 memorial are not running; the plaza roped off. There are no grieving families and friends or tourists to mark New York's last mass tragedy. The silence makes the sacred place even sadder. This city, so tough and resilient, has faced… Read full this story
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