My story:The phone rang sometime after 9. It was Anne. She hadn’tcalled me since we broke up. "Turn on your TV! A planejust crashed into the World Trade Center!""What are you talking about?” I asked. “Why are youcalling me?”"Turn on your TV!"I turned on one of my TVs, the one on top, in the middle. On the screen, one of the towers was billowingblack smoke like a snuffed match. I turned on another TV.It was tuned to a different channel, but showed the samescene. I turned on a third TV. Same thing. Another TV.Same thing. Another. Another. Another. Same. Same. Same.When all the TVs were on, I was assaulted by tendifferent perspectives of the same incomprehensibleimage. The towers were burning.I could hear the Bill’s next door. They were up and watching TV, too. They both worked at Top of the World,the restaurant on the top floor of one of the towers.I watched the second plane hit the South Tower.