I was living in a big, old wooden house in the middle of Indiana on 9/11. My friend Karin, who I’d been in NYC with the summer before, came over. We sat cold, surrounded by farm roads, and watched the towers come down in replay after replay.

The TV in my house didn’t have an antenna, so we mostly watched snow, then saw rough outlines of buildings falling. It all seemed more fantastical than real, like a horrible Jenga cube or icicle falling off a gutter.