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The Space Shuttle Show She's in the newsroom, he's in cosmic dust. Deflecting digital white he takes her mind on a spacewalk. In a flash, converging lenses shimmer, she I-spies the space-time continuum and falls in love long-distance. Feather-felt her heart flutters over shaded bafflements, infinity, where the level of a mirror holds him in the telecamera. Then as it may happen a telltale point-blank concentration, an enter-orbit proposition. As he looses earth connections in a husk, a nonbeing rocket, he is mere kernel stuff. She becomes self-conscious looking at the full moon of the rolled-into-one universe. This lull softens the audience, the unhinging of network immortality has just begun and the mind-boggle of enormous moments spread across the tv.
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