Eleven years ago, I was a student at George Washington University sitting in a computer programming class when the towers were struck. The days and weeks that followed were completely surreal: they were filled with shock, with sadness and a loss of innocence for my generation, one which was raised on the good fortune of naivety.

As I sit writing this, I’m surrounded by the sounds of construction. Roofs being replaced, garages being converted and most poignantly today, the new Freedom Tower going up. I recently moved to lower Manhattan and live a mile away from Ground Zero. The new structure is a part of everyone’s downtown existence. It’s tremendous, mirrored on all sides and reflects the ominous surrounding sky. In the process of unpacking last night, I came across this New Yorker from 2001. The cover has a bit of water damage, though it’s as striking today as it was eleven years ago.