It was 8:45AM.
My cat hopped onto the bed. She was about 12, a brown tone, with black ears, paws, and tail. It meowed in my face.
"Meow?" I questioned.
It answered with another noise.
"Fine." I responded as I rose from my bed.
I approached the food bowl as the window achieved 100% opacity.
New Chicago came to life below me. I was on the 123rd floor. I had a great view, like something off of a postcard.
There was a trail of smoke visible from downtown. The bombings were becoming more and more common. Fucking psychopaths.
I felt like getting some coffee. I got dressed and headed for the elevator.
There was a cute young woman in the elevator with me: chin length black hair, cute face. She was carrying a satchel.
"Hello." I said.
She stood in silence, the bitch.
I finally made it to the ground floor. She followed me what seemed like forever. She walked into the coffee shop and went to some back doors behind the counter.
About 7 minutes later she came back out. And about 2 minutes after that, the little coffee shop on the corner of South Rachel and 47th erupted into a massive fireball. I had a window seat. The blast blew me out of the front window and onto the street. My ears rang and my leg was on fire. I had a 2 inch long piece of glass jutting out of my left shoulder. Looking at my injuries and shouting a few expletives was all I remembered before I passed out.
It was 9:40AM; I guess I'm not getting coffee today.
I woke up about 5 hours later in a hospital bed.
I passed out again.
About a month later I would see her again.
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