I stood there transfixed, bathed in the flickering light of the black and white set, which was eerily quiet. Only the sound of horse hooves plodding along the black asphalt broke the silence, a team of white horses pulling a black box draped with an American flag. Leading them, a cadre of soldiers and sailors some with rifles and others carrying flags.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A funeral procession.” she replied.
“Who died?”
“The President.” she answered quietly.