I was just about to walk out the door. It was hot, but not that hot. Crisp and sunshiney. Beautiful. I answered the phone and Marissa, our downstairs neighbor and friend was on the other end, and I couldn't quite figure out what she was saying. Finally she sputtered, "Turn on the TV, The World Trade Center is on fire, fucking exploding!" I snapped on the TV. I, like everyone else, couldn't believe what I was seeing. I remember laughing. It wasn't funny, it was just impossible to compute. Moments later the second plane hit. Dylan and I scurried out into the hall and climbed up the ladder to the roof of our apartment. This has been said before, and better than I know how to say it, but the smoke filled up the sky. Boiling, furious, terrifying smoke was being pushed from the Towers out and across the East River, into Brooklyn. Miles and miles of smoke. Viciously kinetic. Bad smoke, wrong smoke. You could see the glints of fire in the gaping wounds on the buildings. You could just make out things (people?) tumbling and pouring out of them. The helicopters were circling. Back in the apartment (I went down to get my video camera. I didn't know what else to do. I only taped for about 3 or 4 minutes.) the radio was saying that the Pentagon had been hit also. That there were still planes in the air. The Towers came down. A bit later, numb, Dylan and I went to the Deli to get some food. By this time there was no dial tone. No cellular connection. One channel of broadcast TV (I had been, interestingly, able to use the DSL. I even posted.). When we got to the deli The ATM network was down also. I had maybe $20, Dylan had a couple bucks. We bought Chunky soup, some spring water and a box of Apple Jacks, as I recall. I debated long and hard about whether I should buy a pack of cigarettes. I thought the world was ending. I was pretty sure. Why not fall off the tobacco wagon if we are all going to be incinerated (this was my actual thought process at the time.). I am glad that I didn't buy a pack. Later that night I was deeper in Brooklyn, at Jeff's house. Jeff had (had) an excellent view of the Towers from his kitchen window. Now there was just smoke. We all went up on his roof and looked at the smoke. A while later I was drunk, laying on the floor trying to make sense out of an episode of Three's Company. I found it very comforting. All things considered I had it really easy. I didn't lose anyone. I was never in any imminent danger (any more than anyone else that is, you know what I mean). I did see it, I did smell it (I still can). It was certainly the most scared that I have been as an adult, and I certainly hope that I never have anything to weigh it against. I did go to bed in one world and, more or less, wake up in another, but who didn't? Autumn is the best season in New York City. It is another beautiful day today. Dazzling crystal blue skies. Glorious clouds. It is cooler though and there is a strong wind. It took a few months before a day went by that I didn't get into at least one conversation about this. Not one of the 365 days between then and now has gone without me thinking about it. I don't have any conclusion, and in some ways I think that that is key. What conclusion can you make from this? Here is what I have: I have seen the bad smoke in the city in which I live, my home. I saw parts of my home (that I always thought were like the moon: beautiful and comforting and untouchable) taken in the worst way. This made me scared and angry and sad. Very sad. I don't like being scared and angry and sad. I imagine that people in Afghanistan, or Iraq, or Yemen or Israel or Palestine or Chechnya or Canada or California don't like that either. _____________________ Take care, and take care of each other, y'hear?