Vowels sloshed in her jowls. The early sun speared the taffeta of her tattered dress. Then her tone completely changed. She whispered that I had watched JFK’s funeral with her in the apartment on Bridge Street: casket soldiers flags John-John Caroline Jackie, the blanket that swaddled me enveloped by the dirge of gray ceremony, caisson, bugle taps.

River Bend Chronicle: The Junkification of a Boyhood Idyll amid the Curious Glory of Urban Iowa, p. 160

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