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The view from Boston forever changed
The whole thing started outside my window. That is the most unbelievable part for me. I live on the shore of Boston Harbor, which means I live next to Logan Airport. The planes are my noisy neighbors, coming and going and idling on the tarmac. I have never minded them, not once. They have been friendly mechanical giants descending from the sky in the afternoon or disappearing into the horizon as a blinking dot in the middle of the night. The other end of all flights has always been Paris. Where is that plane from? Paris. Where is that plane going? Paris. It has been my own little romantic lie. I have taken a bunch of flights from Logan to a bunch of other places besides Paris -- stuffed my car into the central parking garage that has become famous, strapped on my seat belt and put on my headphones -- but everyone else on every other plane always was going to Paris. Bon voyage. Have a good time. I think about all that now. I sit in the same seat where I usually type out words about sports of all sorts, commentaries about our national fun and games. I look at the same view. There are no planes today. Nothing. The only noise is from the next room, the constant grind of the television, the press conferences from Washington and the replays of the World Trade Center horrors and the lists of victims. Some madmen, some fanatics, starting right here, moving through the normal, the usual, the day-to-day picture that has always existed, have rocked the entire world. I am like everyone else: angry and frustrated, sadder than sad. Different. Changed. No one is going to Paris today. No one is ever going to Paris again. Not from here. Leigh Montville appears regularly on CNN/Sports Illustrated. The opinions
expressed here are solely those of the writer.
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