We had three weeks of absolutely beautiful weather. During the breaks, I would stand at the thin vertical windows of the building, staring out at the Hudson and the Statue of Liberty far below and call home from my cell phone. At lunchtime, I would go downstairs and head across the street to the line of vendors surrounding a small park at the southeast corner of the complex. And in the afternoons, I would walk the 30 blocks north to the hotel I was staying in, absorbing the sounds and smells that are New York City.

There was a statue in the park where I would eat lunch. It was a rather modern sculpture of a man, sitting on a park bench with his briefcase open. Lunchtime diners would sit down right beside him, enjoying a $2 falafel sandwich or a $3 burrito from one of the many carts. The bold New York pigeons would perch on the top of the statue's head, keeping a keen lookout for any stray crumbs that might fall their way. I used to sit near that statue and look up at the Towers in amazement at their sheer size.

I remember seeing that statue on TV, the day after the attack. It was covered up to its neck in the dusty grey debris from the towers' collapse. The park was barren and unrecognizeable except for that statue, still seated there with his briefcase open beneath the remains of those towers.

During the three weeks while I was there, I took quite a few photos of New York City. From Chinatown to Central Park, I tried to snap shots as I walked each day, perhaps looking for that odd angle. This photograph was the last one I happened to snap of the Twin Towers, dwarfed in the distance beneath the arch in Washington Square.