More, again.

A restaurant on my block had closed for renovation right after labor day, and after Sept. 11, a makeshift shrine appeared in front of its closed door - a couple of those tall glass candle holders, a few bouquets of flowers, notes. A blurry picture on the door of a young dark-haired woman, who I decided was the former hostess of the restaurant, who used to hang out in the doorway on quiet weekday evenings, exchanging pleasantries with passers-by. In my mind she was one of the few casualties I could put a face (if not a name) to.

And then, a few months later, I saw her working in another restaurant and realized the shrine belonged to someone else. I wanted to hug her, I was so happy to see her, but of course she would have no idea why.

I still don't know who was in the photo - the renovation never happened. The restaurant opened a few months later under new management. It's been four or five different restaurants since, and is currently about to re-open yet another time as a coffee and tea lounge.