Whale looks out the window, desperately needing to see something on which he can lock his mind and stop its slide into absurdities.

And he sees a spaceship. A great disk like a slow spinning top reclines against the sky, as big as a house and orbited by tubes that must be neon lights at night. The monstrosity stands over a ring of parked cars where a bare-legged girl on roller skates waltzes out with a tray of paper bags. Whale solemnly watches the spaceship and the girl drift past.

This is where he will die?
–Christopher Bram, Father of Frankenstein