On September 11th, 2001, I was in my freshman art class. The room was noisy, with a bunch of barely teens doing their best Basquiat impression—to terrible avail—and the chorus was routine and mundane. Until it wasn't. Fifteen minutes into class, the teacher was pulled to the side by an administrator, a TV was wheeled into the classroom, and we all watched as the Twin Towers fell.
The noise and hustle and bustle left abruptly as the world changed in those few hours.
