Driving in a car with a girl from work, we were somewhere in Brooklyn nearing the Verrazanno, I could see its tressels in the distance. There was a loud boom, black smoke everywhere, and that’s when we saw the carcass of a plane engine skid over the top of the car and land smoldering behind us. We turned around, back up the road and I could see it in the rear view mirror, the twisted wreck of the bridge, so long, gray metal cables spinning in the smoke. We made it to a shelter, I was calling everyone I knew on my phone, and thinking about it awake, it was a strange combination of people: best friend from childhood in Chicago, best friend from high school in Merrick. Finally, in the basement behind locked doors with a group of strangers, I get the person I love on the line and the dream reproduced his voice over staticky wires. We were in love, we were going to die. I looked out the window and the sky was already black, points of light flying through the air like tiny spacecraft — the first missles hadn’t yet hit.

I woke up.

I’ve had this dream before; different details, same dream. Live memory.