Clicking channels on the television set, Gracie decides it's a perverted thing to still enjoy the show, how it scared millions on Halloween one year. Alien invasion, how silly, how fictional but they all felt it, they felt how real the fear was. But that was in 1938. Nobody doubts the truth today, not today. Not when another air raid siren went off just moments ago. God only knows why this time. Some lost soul must have snuck into The Zone again. Gracie remembers in the 90's when it was commonly called suicide by cop. She wonders if the town survives what they'll call it in the next decade.
War of the Worlds... Might as well be War of Humanity.
With another swish of her glass, she takes a sip of melting whatever she has. She's already forgotten what she poured. A smirk passes her face as she settles on a new channel and the opening credits of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Oh well, let's see how wrong... or right, they got this one. Might as well make an afternoon out of it.