The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A bunch of pigeons are pecking at grain on the floor of a huge, empty hangar. The air's pretty still, and it smells like old gasoline, with a bunch of old propeller planes just sitting around, some with their engines taken apart. Like, the pigeons are somehow assembling a small, complete airplane, piece by piece, using tools that are just lying on the ground, and it's starting to look pretty finished. Uh, it's probably late afternoon, judging from the sunbeams streaming through the hangar's windows.