The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, there's a bunch of chickens calmly laying eggs in neat little rows on the shelves of an old-fashioned general store, surrounded by dusty jars of canned goods and stacks of burlap sacks. The air's warm and dry, smelling like flour and sugar, with the sun beating down on the wooden floorboards through a small skylight, I guess it's mid-afternoon. A big, lazy goat is somehow operating a manual cash register, steadily ringing up the chickens' eggs and carefully making change from a pile of coins on the counter, like it's the store clerk. The store's pretty quiet, just some soft creaking from the old wooden shelves.