That day I slept very late. I think I may have been binge-partying the nights before. And I didn’t sleep well. It was emergency sirens all about – and a lot of them. I’ve lived near some of the largest hospital clusters in the world. So I’m used to the clangor of ambulances, police cars and fire engines. Fire engines are the worst. But that day was something else. The noise really filled the air like never before, and there was something extra chaotic and panicky about the sirens and how they moved about. I hopped out of bed and got onto a normie news website. Someone had bombed the finish line of the marathon, a few blocks from my house. Dozens of casualties. I was surprised I hadn’t heard the blast myself. The first thing on my mind wasn’t about myself. It was to email my mother that I was fine before she went into a hysterical rage on hearing the news. That done, I needed to figure out what to do with myself. Obviously, the city would be blocked off and dysfunctional for days on, if previous experience was any indication. I went back to the news to scan for imminent danger – to exclude chemical and radioactive fallout or secondary attack. I was quickly satisfied that it was not an issue. My knowledge of psychology and the apparent size and type of device used suggested that the bombers were probably some idiot children and not a part of a larger plot. And I was right. All this took less than an hour. Then, there was the rest of the day. Unlike most people, I’m aware that the more attention you pay to assholes, the more energy you feed them. So I was determined to go about my … Continue reading Fortitude and the Bomb