The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: I'm surrounded by a seemingly endless parking lot filled with nothing but mint-condition, 80s and 90s-era lowriders, their hydraulic systems eerily synchronized, rising and falling in unison. Umm, the sky above is a bright, electric blue, and I can smell the faint scent of burnt rubber and gasoline. Part of the parking lot's asphalt is... merged with a glitched, infinitely scrolling Twitter thread debating the implications of the Mandela Effect, while chunks of pavement pulse with a soft, ethereal glow. A low-pressure system is forming on the horizon, drawing in wispy clouds.