I was near the top floor of one of the tallest buildings in San Jose. Let's call it, oh, the Adobe building. (It wasn't necessarily Adobe, but it may have been.)
It was a nice summer day, and I was looking down on the smaller buildings and churches around me. Then I see the effects of bombs going off. Big car bombs. For some reason, I'm on my cell phone with Ted, and we're discussing the coordinated terrorist attack I'm watching in San Jose, of all places. Dirty, house-sized cotton-ball clouds blossoming every couple of blocks.
We both reason that the building I'm in is certainly targeted, and that I'm not going to make it out. As I tell him to let my wife and children know that I love them, I feel the floor, relatively intact, begin to tilt and descend.