The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, a dusty old saloon stands in the middle of a vast, dry canyon, surrounded by nothing but rocky outcroppings and sparse cacti. Like, a group of armadillos is calmly polishing a massive, intricately carved wooden bar using perfectly crafted little wooden tools that seem to be made from living tree branches, while nearby, a large roadrunner somehow operates a vintage, hand-cranked espresso machine, steadily producing what appears to be a constant stream of perfectly foamed cappuccinos. The late afternoon sun beats down through the clear sky, casting a warm glow on the scene. A flock of ravens sits at a table, casually playing a game of poker.