The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dirt roads weave through a vast, empty trailer park under a clear blue sky. Uh, the air's hot and dry, with a smell of old rubber and grease. The sun's beating down pretty hard, casting long shadows behind the rows of single-wide trailers, and it's almost completely silent except for a steady hum coming from a trailer with a washing machine that's somehow just continually running load after load without anyone adding any clothes or detergent. A small plane's crashed into one of the trailers, but somehow the propellers are still slowly spinning like it's trying to take off again.