I was writing about buildings on September 11, 2001. Building buildings. High buildings. Buildings of excellence. It was propaganda for a propaganda-writing job. I no longer have that job but that job taught me how to swing into the minds of the people who rule the world. An anecdote, a quotation, a turn of phrase. Big picture.

We didn't go home. We stayed. I wrote about excitement, innovation, pride, synergy, cross-fertilization, and magnificence. NPR blasted throughout the building. A woman in a purple pantsuit wandered into the halls and said, "It's really happening, isn't it? It just keeps getting worse."

I went to class in the evening. Classes were not canceled. "Neurophysiology of the Brain" started right on time in a cramped halogen classroom with wooden desks. My teacher was sweet, an apologetic PhD who seemed nervous and distracted. She looked like she might busk and sell weed.

"I guess you could say," she said, leaning against the desk, "it's been kind of a bad day."

She rifled through photocopies in her backpack. "Is there anything anyone wants to get off their chests?"

A woman with pursed lips in a cheap business suit at the front of the class raised her hand and turned around to face all of us. "I have something. To get off my chest. My brother was in Tower Number Two, and if he hadn't left the building to go have a cigarette, he'd be dead right now."

She turned around.

"Okay," the PhD said. "That was... Wow. So good thing he smokes, right?"

Our first lesson was on the amygdala.