The clock read 5:04 AM when the alarm goes off. I roll over in the bed and clumsily slap the snooze button, gaining myself another eight minutes of precious slumber. It’s a day like any other.

At 5:12 AM, I slap the intruding clock once more and stumble from bed, bleary-eyed and fog-headed. Down the hall to the bathroom I trundle; habit, not clarity, guides my way, for I have trundled down this hall in just this way on countless pre-dawn mornings just like this one.

Relieve, brush teeth, shower and shave. The routine is as predictable as it is comforting. Gain some awareness of the responsibilities that will crowd my day. Always one more responsibility than I have time for, it seems. Slap on the Drakkar Noir and spike up the hair while kidding myself that the work outs are toning my body. Tell myself I’m looking good as I pull the white knit golf shirt over my head. There’s a pony stitched upon the left breast. How many times have I worn this shirt? Probably close to a hundred by now. A hundred days just like this one.

Slip on the watch and shoes and scoop up the day planner. But turn off the bathroom light first. I almost forget it, just like every other morning. Step out into the hall and down the stairs, careful as always to be quiet for the sake of my neighbors. Janey’s radio is playing in apartment D-5. I can barely hear it through her front door. Every morning, I can barely hear it, but it’s there.

Start the car and pull away. Wait until I’m on the main road to light the cigarette. Same old, same old. Just like every morning, I hope the traffic isn’t bad. Flick on the radio. No sports talk or Howard Stern. News radio. It’s mellow, droning announcers soothe me like white noise. The local ball team lost. Nothing new there. The Dow Jones went down again. No big surprise. Some guy killed five people in Sacramento and left a videotape behind for the police. He blamed the media, or some such nonsense. Good God, the evening tabloid shows will be showing it for weeks, I think with my customary cynicism.

Still dark out this time of morning, but I don’t mind so much. Every day, every day that I go to work I should say, part of my drive takes me through a state park. While it’s still dark out, the deer stay just off the road, foraging at the grass. I see three of them as I wind through the twisting course of road that intersects the park. That’s the average number.

Out of the park and a short jaunt on the turnpike. Once I’m on the turnpike, light the second cigarette. It’s seven minutes to the office from here. On an average day, that is. Today it takes eight.

First one in the office, just like always. Take the elevator to the sixth floor, unlock the door and key in the pass code. Turn on the lights. Three banks, eleven switches in all. Step into my office. The same office I step into everyday.
It’s 6:15 AM.

A mundane, unremarkable hour passes and, before I know it, my office mates have arrived. I smell the coffee before I hear their morning conversations. Doris and Donna always make the coofee in near silence. I won’t drink any of it this morning. I never drink coffee. Why should today be different? I’ll wait until eight and then go get my usual breakfast at the McDonald’s next to the office building. A Number Two without the egg and a medium coke. I’ve ordered it so many times the counter girl actually starts ringing it up before I can say a word. Today she does it, in fact.

Breakfast finished, and just like any other day, I feel a bit guilty about it. The stuff’s not good for me, I know. But it tastes good. Smoke a cigarette outside the office building while I digest my toxic meal. Smoking’s just as bad, that inner voice says. Stupid brain. We fight like this every day. And today is no different. Snub out the smoke and back into the office.

I thought it was a joke at first. A bad one. So I paid it no mind. Didn’t think to check the clock on my computer or my office wall. Then I heard it again. And a third time.

"Did you hear?", Randy asks as he stands at my door’s threshold, "A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center and another’s heading for it."

That’s exactly how he said it.

I want to remember this day. I have to remember it. I have to write this down. Because if I don’t write it down, I might forget. You see, it started out as a day like any other.