It is a terrifying phenomena to remember being somewhere you've never been.

The filmed public execution of Kennedy, the first open source event, grafted to our collective memory, vivid as a traumatic childhood experience.

Hundreds of tourists were already lined up outside the Sticks Floor Museum, formerly Oswald's villainous book depository layer, preserved as

memorial to Kennedy and the many mysteries of the assassination.

But most are there for the perverse thrill of the main attraction, that is stepping into

Oswald's sniper advantage.

I go straight to the window. An iPad below it plays a slowed down animation of the

bullets striking the motorcade. In the actual street below there's a steady stream of traffic

driving over the spot. I imagine rushing down to the street and stopping them

either for trampling the sacred site or for their own safety as if the horrible event were bound to happen again and again.

I skipped the rest of the part about the aftermath of the assassination, the conspiracies, the Warren Commission, and walk upstairs to the seventh floor of the sixth floor museum.

A reprieve from the paranoia, it's a gallery of artifacts of the building itself, the Hertz Billboard on its roof, the original

lettering on its facade, old tiles, even bricks.

The building itself was an innocent bystander in all of this. so was Dallas, and so are all of us.

There was a similar feeling at the Oswald Boarding House Museum, a 10-minute bus ride

away.

Guest enter an ordinary house to a 50s furnished living room.

Musky, its bookshelf stocked with conspiracy classics, a vintage TV playing the movie JFK.

I'm greeted by Pat Hall, a woman who's lived there her whole life.

She met Oswald when she was 11.

He was a quiet man, usually spending most of his time in his room alone.

But when she did meet him, he was polite, cleaning the bathroom after every use,

...