I was living in Washington, DC at the time and drove home from work that morning with my girlfriend back across the Potomac to Arlington. Smoke billowing up from the Pentagon and fighter jets streaking across the sky that night and quite a few more in the nights that followed. Going to work the next day and in the subsequent weeks was surreal. Patriot missile batteries on the side of the road, National Guard troops at intersections, and bomb-sniffing dog checks of my car through two different perimeters before I could get to work. I had the occasion to pay respects to family members of the Flight 93 victims a week or so later, and will never forget the faces of the little children who accompanied their surviving parent. Hard to believe they are all grown adults now. Never forget.