I pull onto the freeway around 8:00 a.m. Pacific time, flipping the radio to NPR. Two broadcasters speak in urgent tones about streams of people walking over a bridge out of Manhattan. It is clear something is terribly wrong, but I don't know what. My brother lives in NYC. I am frightened. It will be several minutes before they finally recap the morning's events. On days like September 11, our lives suddenly divide into before and after. Seven years later, this is my clearest memory: the elongated moment of knowing my world was about to change before it actually did.
--from Production, Not Reproduction