It was on the main terminal’s moving walkway that I first saw the dancing girl. There she leapt, pirouetted, arabesqued, right in between the Starbucks and the Hudson Valley News. Cell phones dropped to the ground, laptops flew, businessmen stood staring with their jaws unhinged.

Back on the ground in the broken City, walking home over broken glass, I saw a sudden flash of light and looked up. There she was for one moment again, flying more fragile than steel, hotter than jet fuel, lighter than all the birds in the sky.