“And all I remember seeing is my husband, he had this sort of quizzical look on his face, and his hand was up, and it must have been his left hand. And just as I turned and looked at him, I could see a piece of his skull and I remember it was flesh-colored.”
(Sort of obsessed with the JFK assassination after visiting the grassy knoll at Dealey Plaza, where he was shot. Like all things associated with tragedies, it made my skin crawl — but was ultimately irresistible.)
