I wake again to what sounds like a riot outside. Muffled screams, lots of sirens, and general commotion fills the air. Shuffle over to the livingroom to turn on NY1. If there is a riot going on they should have some coverage. I turn on the television to live coverage of the World Trade Center smoking and collapsing. I hit myself in the head to wake up.

Immediately I try calling my friends in the area. No cells, no phone lines whatsoever working. Knowing my parents are freaking out I try calling them with no luck. I'm in shock on my couch.

Finally get in touch with some friends in my neighborhood. Had to have some human contact. My phone finally rings as I'm about to leave. Its my mom in tears. She had been trying to call me for five hours. I don't even remember how our conversation went. Phone calls start piling in from everyone I know.

I had to get out of my apartment. Step outside and my hood feels like its been occupied by some army. No traffic. Only military types patrolling every inch. Identification checks at major streets. Barely allowed to go to my friend's place just below Houston Avenue.

Can't reach my brother in law. My two friend's who lived a block and a half away from the Towers still have not been heard from. One friend was trapped underground, his train screeched to a halt and immediately enveloped by dust, debris, and smoke. Took him most of a grueling day to crawl from beneath the street. My friend's dad, nearly trampled by panicking people got slapped with the wave of the tower remains. He is in good condition physically, still having a hard time speaking. My friend who works a few blocks away now has a permenant vision of people plummeting to their deaths to avoid the blistering heat.

My job gives me shit about not trudging to work that day. I told them to shove the servers up their ass.

Tried to donate blood, all centers were full up. Grind my teeth in frustration that I couldn't even do that to help out.

On the way to the bar so we could deaden the senses. A mural was already being painted depicting the Towers on fire. Honoring the dead, and special thoughts for the firemen that were crushed after rushing into the building to save those who were harmed by the impact. A police van parked outside my friend's apartment building was covered in ash. We all were compelled to dig our fingers in and smell the ash, just trying to force our minds to accept what happened, by touching something that was physically involved, even if it was ash.

The next day I go to work. Walking there, unable to trust the subway. Citywide expression of rape victims passing me. Men clutching their children as tight as they can. On the way down 32nd Street, there was a gutted out firetruck with a crowd around it. They turned it into a makeshift memorial for the men that died inside of it. Lines of people waiting to annoint it with bouquets of flowers. Three firemen still in their gear obviously fresh from the effort, crying in each other's arms. This is when I break down. Leaning up against Madison Square Garden I cry into my palms.

Later that night when the wind shifts, the stench invades the office. Take a look outside and the smoke trail is right on top of us. I just want to run and scream.

As the office is five blocks away from the Empire State Building, and the fact that the Daily News and the PBS station are in the building, there is a heavy police force in effect. No entering or leaving without inspections. Glad they are there as we are being evacuated that night for the bomb scare at the Empire State Building. My chest aches and my entire body shakes as we go down the elevator to rush outside.

Since my apartment is downtown. The further I go down the murkier the air gets. The reek is indescribable. Choking on industrial smoldering and what has to be the victims burning in the aftermath. It coats everything in whats supposed to be my safe haven.

I'm honestly still in shock. I'm still waiting to launch from my bed, heart pounding as the nightmare jars me from this long sleep. So many things are making me furious. I'm having a extra difficult time caring about much outside of my friends and family. I'm feeling disappointed in myself as I don't believe I've done justice in this journal to the events that have occured, and especially to all those who have died and all those fighting downtown to make this alright. My city no longer is special to me. Don't know what else to say.