With the smoldering ruins of NYC towers still primetime
preoccupation, we carried on our workaday existences, chins up, spirits down, noses
to the grindstone, concentrating as best we could under the cudgel of
violence-begotten uncertainty and thoughts of burnt flesh.
Dispatching from Jim & K’s warm kitchen each day, I’d pile gear into the trusty rusty Toyotee pickup, trundle to Polomials and head for the Jersey woods. But THIS night, after pizza, Polomials’ eyes filled with wonder as he calmly intoned: “I’ve got something to show you,” popping what appeared to be a fun-time family vacation tape into the VCR.