Am I on a plane, Marlon? Am I on a plane?” “Marlon, in case you’ve forgotten,” Elizabeth said, “I am also a Jew. “You think Weinstein’s not on a plane right now? You think Eisner’s not on a plane?” “There are no flights allowed,” Michael said, trying to feel capable, filling them in. “Some things you can’t handle,” Elizabeth said.

Downtown was really so much worse than anyone in L.A. Now Michael looked south and saw a sky darkened with ash. But because the helipad near the Garden had, for some reason, been out of commission it had been decided he should stay downtown, for reasons of proximity and to avoid traffic. It’s dangerous downtown, it’s always been that way, just stick with what you know, stay at the Carlyle. Everyone-his brothers and sisters, all his West Coast friends-had warned him not to go downtown.

Elizabeth and Marlon were staying uptown normally Michael, too, would be staying uptown-until five days ago he’d almost never set foot below Forty-second Street. It was tuned to the same channel Michael was watching, but only Michael could see the images on the screen replicated simultaneously through his own window, a strange doubling sensation, like when you stand on a stage and look up at yourself on the Jumbotron. Michael could hear Marlon’s TV in the background. “We’re in a state of terror, that’s where we are.”

Nw zadie smith sparknotes