IT sounded like a soft drinks machine falling over. At first, I didn't imagine it could be a bomb, writes Careem. Looking over a quadrangle across the road from Centennial Olympic Park, I could see hundreds of people still dancing and having a good time. As I ran from the press building, I saw the fire engines, police cars and ambulances struggling to get through the hordes of people and the traffic to Centennial Olympic Park. Hundreds of people were about, some walking away from the park, some heading towards it, some just stunned. Some people were unhappy about having to stop partying. One group wanted to find more beer. A couple were locked in a sombre embrace with tears in their eyes. Initially, there didn't appear to be any panic or stampedes. But it was quickly clear that something serious had occurred. Within minutes of the explosion, television crews were interviewing witnesses at the scene and broadcasting to the world. I ran back into the press centre looking for Post photographer David Wong. As we both rushed to get back out onto the street, the police threw a cordon around the exit doors of the building and said they were not letting anyone move. A frustrating 45 minutes later they finally opened the doors - on condition none of the world's media tried to get back inside to their workstations. For the past two weeks, Hong Kong reporters have been among the many journalists in Atlanta complaining about the difficult working conditions. Boardsailor Lee Lai-shan's success was one of the few things that kept our spirits up. Now, that doesn't seem so important.