Your one step closer to a free beer!!

The message was clear, she sent you out,

Past chickens, art, and human doubt.

Now find the field where Earthlings dine—

On benches built by grand design.

The grass is fake (or so you think),

But still it hums with alien ink.

The tables speak in silent code,

Of cornhole gods and BBQs foretold.

Beneath umbrellas, red and shy,

They’ve hidden tech in plain old rye.

Sit where green meets wood and chrome,

And whisper: “She came… and brought cologne.”

If the mothership hears, the path will be shown.