The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Sunlight's shining down on this small, rural gas station, weeds sprouting out of the cracked asphalt, old pumps still standing but clearly out of commission. There's a seagull sitting on top of a stack of worn tires, watching a TV that's somehow still playing a VCR tape of what looks like a really old PBS documentary on bird migration patterns. Air's pretty still, but I can smell gasoline and like, old rubber. The seagull's slowly turning the TV dial with its beak, changing the channel to a static-filled screen that's somehow displaying the exact same image as the stained glass window from that cathedral I was in earlier.