Kurt Cobain stands at the top of the stairs, wearing the brown sweater. ‘Please don’t leave me,’ she yells up at him. But it’s too late; he’s turning away as the tram slows for the stop out on the street.
Then she’s lying on the road. Car tyres are going past, slowly. Somebody is screaming. A siren howls.
Sweet voices of little children are singing ‘Morningtown Ride’.
Is Brigitte a loving wife and mother, or a cold-blooded killer?