BOOM

That bass-filled shockwave almost caves in my eardrums, but I don’t notice. My eyes are too busy taking in the new scene so I can dissect and analyze it. I tell myself the same thing as I always do when I arrive.

“There’s something wrong here.”

Today’s event is a parade, taking seemingly out of the 60s? 70s? (Gah, I’ve always been horrible with placing time, even after years of of being a chronocle.) A quick glance around me shows me I’m a bystander to this parade, not a participant. I’m also – I noticed as people’s shoulders crowd my vision – short. I sigh as I step forward to see the scene.

A convertible limo is approaching my spot. The front of the car has two twin flags attached to it, each over the headlights. The driver is wearing black, and the passengers…

My breath stops. Those are the Kennedys.

As I soak that in, I see the JFK’s leather seat erupt right next to him before I hear a crack of a rifle shot. “Aw, crap,” I muttered, reaching for my silenced pistol. “He missed.”