The Day After Move 37

I was a few months into 21 years old when a hijacked plane crashed into the first World Trade Center tower. I was commuting in to work listening to the radio (as was the style at the times). I couldn’t figure out how the heck a plane could hit the tower. Was the pilot drunk? How did he even get into the middle of New York City? I was imagining a Cessna because the idea of a passenger plane running into the building was actually unimaginable. I was barely starting to realize “Wait… are they talking about, like, a big commercial plane?” when the second plane hit.