Fifteen years ago this morning, I was cutting limes at the Navigator Restaurant in Edgartown when my boss said "Turn on the TV, a plane just crashed into a building in New York City."
It was the strangest day I've ever had behind the bar. The place was packed, but nobody was eating or drinking. Everyone was just standing there, staring at the televisions in a state of shock and horror. In particular, I remember three men from New York who worked in the towers but had taken a few days off to come to Martha's Vineyard.
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