1962. Sniper training in New Mexico. Smell of grease and sweat in July. A briefcase of classified material. An otherworldly haze through an imaginary hole in the hand. Sitting on the porch at dusk. My father smoking a cigarette and looking up at the first stars of the evening. I've seen a lot of strange things in the nighttime sky, he said. I fell asleep in my room. Listening to a voice over the radio describing strange things in the nighttime sky.