We open inside an isolated desert gas station. The fan is whirring. The radio is playing lonely country music. The weathered gas station attendant, an old white haired-guy, is slowly turning on the OPEN sign to entertain himself and wiping sweat from his brow. His ancient dog lays asleep on the dusty floor.
Suddenly, mayhem erupts: the Cowboys bang open the door like straight out of a Western, and then the Post-Apocalyptic gang crashes through the wall.
The old man stands there, stunned. Not knowing what the hell just happened. Dust and rubble fill his store. The Cowboys and Post-Apocalyptic dudes find their bearings. And look around for the object of their desire. The old man realizes what they are looking for and moves his eyes to the fridge. Their eyes follow his gaze…