I passed through the Pentagon Metro station about twenty minutes before the plane hit. When I got to work, one of the officers told me about it and I ran downstairs to watch on the little TV we had. Saw the second plane hit the Tower. Knew, then, we were under attack.
The Metro went straight through the Pentagon station on the way home that evening. You could smell the smoke. There was a real big guy, 6’4″ or so, about 275, sitting a few rows up on a bench facing me. He was staring out the window and crying. Silently. He did not stop crying and staring out the window the entire trip. Silently.
I wanted to say something to him. I wanted to go put my arms around him, but I couldn’t. I did not know what to say. Or do. So, I just watched him cry.