Two years ago I went alone to New York City for spring break. One night I stood atop the World Trade Center and marveled at the electric beauty of New York. Tiny yellow globes twinkled down straight avenues, and the din of the living city was a comforting hum at that altitude. I can recall the chilly April wind tugging at my Ragstock jacket. I remember the antenna lights slowly fading on and off, bathing the roof in a steady pattern of soothing blackness and prophetic red.