I was on my way to drop off my car to have a new convertible top installed. It took a while to figure out that what was happening in New York was not just a dreadful accident. I think when the second plane hit, the realization dawned that the events were the personification of evil beyond comprehension. By the time I reached the upholstery shop, tears made wet paths down my cheeks and left dark patches on my light blue shirt. I got out of the car and stumbled into the front office. The owner looked askance while I handed him my keys. I blubbered something about just having been listening to the radio, as if that explained the red eyes and snuffling sobs. He just stared like I was nuts, took the keys and told me the car would be ready at four.
To this day I'm sure he didn't yet know what was going on 3000 miles away. I didn't tell him. I couldn't. There were no words to explain. I don't know how the newscasters did it.
My heart goes out to all who were there; those trying to escape, those trying to help them escape, those left behind to deal with the aftermath, and to all the friends and families who suffered loss.