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I was 25 years old, living in Dallas and working at a locally based computer game company.

I had no indication anything was out of the ordinary when I started my car. I listened to Kidd Kraddick in the Morning on my drives to the DART Rail, and instead of the show's usual comedy, the tones for Kidd, Kellie, and Big Al were unusually serious. Something about planes and New York and an accident of some kind. It had just happened. No one knew exactly what was going on.

I worked in the West End, so I took the train downtown as I always did. It was quiet outside. I went upstairs to the office where everyone was gathered around the television.

“So what have I missed,” I said as I walked into the room, and as if on cue, the second plane hit the World Trade Center. I won't repeat what I said in response. My boss at the time turned to us and said “We're done here today,” and sent us home. The West End was even quieter, but there was a lone man out there quietly playing a tune on his saxophone. It was so muted. I can't to this day remember what he was playing.

I called friends in New York, and family, and then went to another friend's house where we sat around in shock, and just talked. None of us knew what any of this meant. We didn't know if it was over, was this the beginning of something larger.... I still have my copies of the following Dallas Morning News editions, with its huge font screaming the headlines of every bit of news each day. I think it took over a week before the headline size returned to normal.

I had been in New York just two months prior while attending a convention. My co-workers and I had planned to go to the top of the World Trade Center, but the lines were long that day, so we decided against it.

“I'll see it the next time I'm here,” I thought to myself.

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