On a trip to Dallas a couple of weeks ago, I went to the Sixth Floor Museum, and was relieved at how respectfully the presidency and death of JFK were treated. A plexiglass enclosure cordons off the actual window from which the sociopathic little creep killed Kennedy. But you can stand at the next window, five feet away, and look out on the street and plaza. From the ground, the image of the Texas Schoolbook Depository looms huge and foreboding in the American nightmare. But until you are actually there inside of it, imagining a car right below you, barely moving, a telescopic sight on the rifle, it becomes clear that Kennedy didn’t have a chance. Stupid, preventable, and ridiculous, this particular nightmare.