I had arrived in Las Vegas the morning of September 10th for four days of self-indulgence and irresponsibility. The day had been spent at Lake Mead swimming in the largest human-made lake in the nation while the 110 degree sun shined down on the patio boat, trying desperately to melt the 6 cases of beer and odd assortment of cheeses we somehow thought was a good combination when we stopped at a local supermarket. Seventeen of us had arrived from NYC for a well-deserved break from the city?s madness. No one wanted to think about anything serious or the lives they had back home.

The day turned into night and once again we find ourselves in a bar with all of us dancing to bad music and quite drunk. My night ended up at the Craps table, having the time of my life making friends with strangers and talking up the dealers. This is not the place where one goes to find peace and quiet - unless 100 TV?s, 1000 slot-machines, 75 different tables, live bands, disco lights, flashing lights, and 500 of the strangest assortment of people make you feel at home. Fortunately, for me, I am a native Manhattanite and I could not have been anymore happy.

It was sometime around 6am Las Vegas time on the 11th when one of the dealers says ?Hey aren?t you from New York City, ?cause something?s going on." I look over at the wall of TV?s. On two-dozen monitors see Tower number One on fire. I quickly go over to the bar TV in which the sound has been turned on, and just stare. All of a sudden I see this plane and it crashes into Tower number Two. I?m in shock. I?m not even sure if this is real. It can?t be. What the hell is going on?

Within the next hour our entire group has gathered in one room - every one of us in various stages of fear and horror. No one we know can be reached. Every phone call is promptly connected to a busy signal. We are all fixated on the television, waiting for the next attack. Is our city gone? Is everyone we know going to die? All we have is each other and the clothes we brought. What the hell is going on?

The next 5 days were horrible. Las Vegas was in lock down. Every car had been rented and no public transportation was in service. People were buying cars to get out of town. We were stranded in Las Vegas. The dichotomy between this place of hedonism and our real lives was more then we could handle. We all went through one kind of breakdown or another.

Exactly six days after the attack, I got home.

I have lived in the East Village my entire life and for the first time I had no idea what to expect. I immediately went up to my roof. The roof I spent my childhood on. Staring at the top of my city. Looking at the sky and listening to the sound of a city that never stops. I looked directly to the southwest - to the Twin Towers that I had viewed as long as I could remember - and it finally hit that deep dark place that I was trying to hold back. All I saw was smoke. All I could hear was sadness. At night the entire area was lit up like some bizarre special event. All one could see was a bright glowing light amidst the darkness with volcano-like smoke ebbing into the sky. During the day you could see the smoke slowly creeping over the city depending on which way the wind blew.

From friends who were here during the attack: they talked of a ghost down under Martial Law. Entire neighborhoods shut down. Avenues closed off to only emergency vehicles that raced back and forth from the site to various locations, with a frequency that was un-nerving. Reports of the Army taking over the city, the Navy just off Brooklyn, and dozens of military planes hovering over the city like something out of Orwell?s ?Invasion from Mars?. Only one channel still remained on air and the coverage was 24/7. No one knew what to expect next. The first 48 hours were terrifying and confusing.

There is not a person here who did not know someone who died, or has a friend who died. The senseless loss of lives is the first and most important reality we are all faced with. The second is the change in our daily lives. Nothing will ever be the same again. Yet we go on. We walked out of our apartments and lived with the smell of death for months. We listened to dozens of supposed days to be at alert from the media. Bomb threats ran in the 100?s per day. We stored emergency water and canned goods. We planned escape plans and some of us got gas masks. We organized and went to benefits for the families who lost someone. I even volunteered on the Red Cross boat to help feed the rescue workers as many times as they would have me. We mourned and we also danced.

It made me want to write music more than ever - to express my anger and sadness. What kind of true artist could I be if I could not incorporate this time into my mu

sic, to release it and find peace. The band I was just starting took on a whole new energy and became GROUNDED. A four piece stoner-rock, heavy-grooving, hard-hitting bunch of biker-chicks who all have a sense of what?s real.

The attack brought to surface a lot of obvious truths that we as a collective unconsciousness were forgetting. It yanked away at the superficial and exposed the more sensitive side of life - to cherish what we have, and to live life to the fullest without harm to others.

Who knows what the future will bring. We know this. The future is now.

Allegra is formerly of MOTOCHRONIC. Her current band, FIREGODS, played the benefit show for Bianca's family on Feburary 12th with other NYC bands.