The rocket is just a distant needle here, a pin. She recognizes the place, sees Ashby's wife and kid. Then it rises again, falls, rises. She saunters out of the bar, toward the tunnel leading to the stands, glances back. The view is back to the pad, the rocket waiting for the final command.
Numbers count down at the bottom of the screen.
She heads out to the tunnel, toward the stands. Sky opens up outside, bright Louisiana blue with thin clouds stretched high above, like the pillars of cloud left behind by rockets. She stops, just waits and looks down toward the track. Horses glide over the ground, dirt snapping into puffs that chase the animals. She closes her eyes and rides the crowd's voice, lets it drown out her thoughts, a white haze to displace the image of a needle set to stab the sky.