A different time, a different line.

do not crossThat first year I interned at my first paper, there was a day that always stuck with me for some reason, even after I quit journalism.

We were sitting around the conference table, a bunch of us young students, listening to our seasoned head editor. She was talking emphatically about the Line. That included photos you may or may not publish on the cover.

Back then, in the late 90s or so, it was a man’s successful suicide, midair while jumping off the Verrazanno Bridge.

It was a different time.

RIP, Line.






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