The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A beat-up old golf cart is somehow embedded in a thick layer of tar, its wheels still spinning steadily like it's trying to get unstuck. Umm, the air's thick and heavy with the smell of hot asphalt and oil, and the sun's beating down from directly overhead, making the tar sticky and gooey. The air's pretty still, except for a gentle trickle of water flowing uphill, somehow forming a tiny stream that's flowing up the side of a nearby pile of rocks. A bunch of seagulls are hovering above, eyeing the stuck golf cart like they're waiting for something to happen.