The news replays the blast over and over again. The building falls. Word starts that Osama bin Laden is responsible. Afganistan denies it. Arafat expresses sympathy. Nobody knows what to do. Ben comes over. Fox comes over. Karina, Jeremy, Shaw. Wendy brings cookies. We huddle in Jon's living room to watch the rescue efforts.

Gulliani says he will not allow Arabs in New York to be attacked. Callers to Larry King express their anger on prime time television. Numbers of dead are floated at ten thousand. A fifth of the Pentagon is burning.

All day nothing seems appropriate. I cancel my haircut. I get letters from friends in New York. They're OK. They're devastated. The west coast is quiet. The streets of San Francisco are thin.

I get a message for a vigil at 6pm, Market and Powell. Mourning for victims combined with a plea that America be measured in its response. The lefties are worried the United States will indiscriminately bomb half the Arab world into oblivion. I decide not to go.

The Taliban is between a rock and a hard place. Nobody wants discussions. Orrin Hatch says he intercepted two coded messages to Osama confirming two targets hit. The rebels in the north of Afghanistan call it a coordinated plot between the Taliban, Osama, and Pakistani Intelligence. The people are calling for Osama's head on a stick. We know he's guilty of something. Turn over the 44 year old sheik. Afghanistan prepares for its skies to fill with fire.

By 8pm we still aren't sure if it's appropriate to play poker. We're all gathered at Jon's. We've been watching television all day. I have cards and chips in my bag. We set up on the kitchen table.

It's a conservative night. Donahue asks, "Where's your fucking editor?" Everytime Donahue fumbles a quarter somebody pronounces the stench of sucker coming off of him is rank. There are eight of us in the game while Fox, Alice, Julie, Karina, and Q stay stuck to the living room, door closed. An obvious fact emerges, the best looking among us are not playing poker.

Ben plays strong all night. He hits baseballs out of the park, consistently turning over five of a kind. He splits a twelve dollar Clue with Jeremy. Abby takes donations and comes back with a twelve pack and a new stake, which she promptly loses. Jon doubles his money while cautioning everyone not to bet beyond their means. I win fifteen. Wendy is new to the game and sinks ten under Ben's tutelage, but it takes her awhile to do it. Shaw stays even. Jeremy loses ten. Donahue loses twenty like he does every week. Abby falls eighteen. Ben finishes up a remarkable thirty-five dollars.

Midnight I split Jon's house after Jon feeds me bacon and eggs and we watch CNN for a bit more. What a day. We eat a quiet dinner while viewing the reruns. Jon's a nice guy but his old lady is eager to banish me to the streets.

***

In the morning the sidewalks are full again and a light grey fog sits over the bay. The newspapers are questioning what we could have done differently. There's a world of consoling to do. The blood banks won't take my blood. They say we won't know the death count for a week but they're already talking thousands. Powell says we will respond as if at war and the Chronicle runs heartbreaking stories of doomed passengers making last phone calls to husbands and wives. The crowds are back in line at Peete's Coffee and there is even a little laughter, but not much. We're pre-occupied. America has been at peace so long that we elected George Bush president and now we have to make do.

I read all of the editorials. Most bellow for revenge, some pointing to the twenty Palestinian children caught on camera dancing in the streets before being told to go inside. A couple call for reason, knowledge before action, remorse for the victims. The only one I really like is in the Washington Post that reads, What to write in the face of something so horrible? It defies you.

Nobody knows what's going to happen. The first attack will almost certainly be on civil liberties. America will chose safety over freedom. It's all just terrible.

In the aftermath I'm glad we played poker last night. I'm glad that we were together, in the same apartment, playing cards and watching TV. It would have been a horrible day to be alone.

Steve Elliott

Editor

The Poker Report