The last time he celebrates Independence Day is in 1953, his thirtieth year, the twentieth anniversary of his family's emigration from Austria.
Annemarie looks stunning in the moonlight as they walk out to see the fireworks. Five year-old George is in high spirits.
The display is always impressive, and especially this year. Each burst is a fountain, permeated by vibrant colors, leaving smoky, skeleton-like fingers behind.
It doesn't last nearly long enough.
A year later it all ends, courtesy of two bullets.
He doesn't go to 1954's fireworks, nor acknowledge the day. After all, why should he?
America failed him.