As Melissa turns away, a white box appears around the tv, with it's left edge extending into darkness, and then beyond to nothingness, or a different space. Melissa sits down, all the while looking out the window, until she gives up and reaches for her work notebook. Music notes come from another room, where the radio is between channels; one of the words from the accidentally-tuned talk show makes its way through the overlay of alien notes, then down the corridor air, into her local air, and somehow through here ear and onto the page she's writing.     Melissa and I met here in Alamogordo, while we were working on the training simulator for the shuttle.