November 22 dawned brisk and cloudy with a telltale gray auroa, as John Davis boarded the train to Idlewild Airport. Squeezing in among the other strap hangers, he prepped himself for the day ahead. Thanksgiving was quickly approaching so the terminal would be chock full of passengers disembarking for the holiday in New York City.

John thought of himself as a writer, so he had plenty of time to sketch characters, and journal in the dime store notebook always under his arm on the hour commute from Brooklyn to Queens.

Once he got to the airport, he quickly headed to the employee lounge and his locker. He hung up his thick winter coat and wiped his coke bottle glasses with his shirt. Sticking his paper bag lunch of baloney and cheese and an apple on top of his locker, he pulled on his thick work coat, hat and gloves. Punching his time card on the way out to the tarmac, he kept a tight grip on the notebook. No one said hello, ignoring him as he positioned himself next to the other baggage handler to unload the belly of the plane coming in from Athens.

Flight 1906 from Athens landed on time and taxied to the arrival gate, and both men ran to help unload the baggage. John needed to have the luggage neat and tidy so when the passengers stepped out of the plane, they could easily spot it. His associate simply pulled and stacked so John was constantly straightening, adjusting and aligning like a bee taking care of the queen. That only lasted while the plane was being unloaded and suddenly everything changed.

The world stopped as everyone was riveted to the television or radio listening to the horrific news: President Kennedy has been shot. There was so much chaos in the airport, that no one saw John reach for his notebook and flash a freakish, psychotic smile. He walked purposefully toward the train station, ready to execute his plan.

The police found his notebook fluttering around the subway tracks after John jumped. Bending down and grasping the binder, the detective opened up the middle. What he saw made the blood in his veins go cold. Two words repeated over and over, filling up every bit of space:

KILL JFK