POV: Julian Vane-MorettiThe morning in the North End was different now. The air, which for decades had tasted of salt, diesel, and the charred memory of the 1999 fire, had finally been scrubbed clean. Standing on the sidewalk of the newly paved memorial plaza, I breathed in the scent of fresh concrete and damp earth. It was the scent of a beginning a ledger entry that didn’t start with a negative sign.Dante was standing near the center of the plaza, his hands tucked into the pockets of his heavy wool overcoat. He looked like a man who had finally put down a weight he’d been carrying for twenty-five years. Beside him, the "Marian Vane Memorial" rose into the gray New York sky not as a monolith of stone, but as a structure of glass and light, designed to house the community center we had promised."It’s open," Dante said, his voice a low rumble that felt more like a prayer than an observation."The first classes start at noon," I replied, stepping up beside him. I looked at the gold k
最終更新日 : 2026-02-08 続きを読む