Just before 6pm, Lexington between 41st and 42nd

I'm finishing up at work today, trying to tie things up so I can leave the office at 6 to meet La Doug downtown. All of a sudden, I hear this huge boom.

From my cubicle, to no one in particular:

ME: What the fuck is that?

I look out the window to see if it's thunder, but it isn't thunder. There's plenty of light brightening the sandy brick of the opposite building. But the boom isn't a boom at all. It's a roar. And it keeps going. And going. The building is shaking. Five seconds, ten seconds of this roar pass. The fire alarm starts going off. My co-worker looks me square in the eye and yells, "RUN!"

I grab my bags and wallet and run for the emergency exit. As we run down the eight flights to the ground level, the roar gets louder and louder. I can feel the air getting a little thicker, more humid, as we get closer to the exit. I'm wearing a black wrap that I like to put on when it gets chilly in the office. Its fringe whips around me, getting tangled up with my bags as I fly down the staircase. I wonder, am I going to have to wet it down and use it to cover my mouth so I can breathe through clouds of debris, the way my cousin did when she was walking home from Whitehall St. during 9/11?

I get a glimpse of the people in front of me as they burst through the doors. By this time, the roar has grown. I'm not sure where we get let out, but the building sits on the east side of Lexington, between 41st and 42nd, right down the street from Grand Central station. I'm positive that my fear of working above Grand Central is justified, and that Grand Central has been blown up or something. I think about the Piccadilly Circus car bomb.

I break through the exit's double doors. I look to my right towards the source of the loud roar. I see fat plumes of dirty smoke spewing upwards, ominously tall, obscuring the sky. I make myself believe that I'm looking at Grand Central, that the beige smoke is coming from underground. Is the smoke moving towards me? Is it billowing out like the ash tsunami did during 9/11? I can't tell, but I decide I don't fucking care, I am getting as far away as I can as fast as I can.

[Video found on YouTube, not taken by me. My building is the silvery art-deco skyscraper on the right. You can see it when the camera pans up.]

As I run down the block, away from the smoke, I see an abandoned low-heeled black mule here. A few strides later, I notice its mate. I glance at my own impractical running shoes, a pair of overheated, red rubber galoshes squeezing my pumping calves. I consider abandoning them too. Up towards 3rd Ave., I run past a minivan frozen in the middle of a parking job, its passenger door agape and its seats empty.

The fire engine sirens seem to be coming from all directions. Cars are gridlocked and not letting them pass. Most people are running. Some people are trying to get on their phones. Some people are taking pictures with their cell phones. A few are crying. I get all the way to 1st Ave. and turn downtown. My run turns into a brisk walk. I am out of breath, but I am not turning around. After many attempts of getting through the busy cell network, I manage to get through to La Doug's voicemail and tell him I'm fine, but what's happening? I call my NY cousin, who also works in midtown, and leave a voicemail for her. I call my L.A. cousin and leave a message for her to call my mom and tell her I'm fine.

I'm dripping with sweat, but I'm calming down. My pace slows. I change into my gym sneakers and stuff my galoshes into my bag. Somewhere in the 30s on 1st Ave., I stop in a deli to buy an extra large bottle of water. Just in case. The deli guys don't seem particularly alarmed.

ME: You should turn on the news. There was a huge explosion at Grand Central.

DELI GUY #1: Grand Central? Terrorists?

ME: I don't know. I haven't heard.

DELI GUY #2: Man, these guys do some stupid shit, and then who has to pay? We have to pay.

The deli guys are Middle Eastern.

I pay, thank them, and head back downtown. Finally, my NY cousin calls:

COUSIN: Hey, it's just a steam pipe or a transformer or something. Alex [her boyfriend] is at home watching the news.

ME: Look, I don't know how they would know that quickly, but if I were you, I'd go home. Better safe than sorry. And don't take the subway!

Doug calls and I give him a brief run down. I tell him I'll walk to meet him at our original meeting place. As I walk further downtown, fewer and fewer people seem alarmed. People are drinking sweat-beaded glasses of wine at sidewalk tables. Cabs are available. Cars are still driving uptown on 1st Ave.

Am I too paranoid? I live in this great city, I am hitched to this post, but sometimes the Big Apple feels like the Big Bull's-eye. The dirty sock color of the smoke, I've seen it before. When I hear an explosion, I know better than to sit it out and wait for further instruction. Michael Chertoff, his gut has feelings. Every morning, Al-Qaeda! Iraq! Iran! Pakistan! Cheney! Troop surge!

A few things I learned about myself today:

1. I'm not afraid to be afraid.

2. In the event of a crisis, you can bet your britches that I will NOT be one of those bitches trying to get cell phone video to sell to CNN. I am running and I am not looking back.

3. I've GOT to bump up my cardio.