Staring, drawn out of the confines of her retail bean fields into the sparkly realm of her mind, she doesn't realize she has also caught the eye of Shiri Appleby, whose name sounds as sweet and tart as her girl-next-door image is saccharine, and who now has the look of someone unsure if the girl staring is fan or foe. Staring as she does at old photos, examining every line and fleck of light as if transported by the minute details of the memory back into time where the memory was born, she realizes it is not a picture and it is not her imagination - that tiny, plain girl - no - woman, is in fact Shiri. Saved by the ringtone of her mobile, Shiri answers, "Hey babe..." Liz Parker would never say that to Max , but, yes - that is in fact, Liz Parker's voice, the slightly squeezed consonants, a soft scruffy baby woman voice. She stares also out of disbelief at the lucky synchronicity she's been gifted: See, for two weeks she has watched episodes of Roswell on her c
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