I was living at 420 West Surf, Apt. 305. I was bar-tending those days, so I was sleeping very late. I had a Russian friend, Ilya, who was a student in some kind of "financial" concentration. He would come over in the mornings to use my computer because he didn't have one. He came into my room after the first tower was hit and very calmly said to me, "Big crisis at the World Trade Center." In my state of being extremely tired I replied, 'Why, the fuck are you telling me this?' The two and two, for me, was World Trade Center + financial student. We never talked about his schooling. I knew very little about it. I continued, 'I don't care about that shit.' He pressed, "No, no... you have to see this." I, reluctantly, got out of bed and saw the first tower in flames. I thought it was an accident. It still didn't interest me, so much, until I watched the second tower get hit. I knew it was deliberate and started to hear other reports about other planes. I was thinking Chicago was a prime target and was anxious about getting news about it. Later that day, I was on my way to work and called my boss from the platform of the L-train. He told me not to come to work. He said he didn't feel it was gonna be busy. It was warm out. The Sun was strong. The skies were quiet. I hated my girlfriend. I'm sure I wasn't happy about being home with her, that night. She was an asshole.
