My yearly reminder (brag?) that I lived in Manhattan during the summer of 2001. It was perhaps my most decadent summer ever; my sister was gone for much of the summer and I lived in her apartment by myself and went to house parties in Westchester County

My journalism internship was pretty low-key; they couldn't really find much for me to do. I was sent to Washington D.C. for a week to write a couple stories. My hotel was around the Pentagon and I covered a couple press conferences there and at the Capitol Building

The last day of my internship, in mid-August, my sister took me out to a dope Mexican restaurant in lower Manhattan that had pictures of Ernest Borgnine all over the walls. I told the owner I loved that, and he gave us a bunch of free booze.

I remember almost getting a panic attack on the subway ride home because the train we had to take was, like, seven levels down from normal and I felt pretty claustrophobic. That night I had weird dreams of fire and being buried and things crashing down on me.

I've never told anyone this. Obviously it's a coincidence -- I don't believe in empaths or humans being able to see the future or whatever, but I do believe that we are more in tune to events and our fellow man more than we think.

Maybe this is the most embarrassing thread I've ever posted, me trying to shoehorn my little life into world-changing events. But what is Twitter but sharing the small, perhaps stupid, but sometimes important stuff with people you barely know?