Agent de circulation à tête de téléphone verbalise un food truck dinosaure

A lone, eerily cheerful traffic warden, whose head is a giant, cracked smartphone displaying a dead battery icon, meticulously issues a parking ticket to a rusted, dinosaur-shaped food truck abandoned in a sun-bleached suburban wasteland. The dinosaur truck's empty eye sockets weep oil, and a flock of mutated, three-eyed pigeons wearing tiny bowler hats perch on its ribcage, watching with judgmental indifference. In the background, a half-melted ice cream cone monument stands beside a billboard advertising "POST-APOCALYPSE SALE: 100% OFF EVERYTHING," while a radioactive tumbleweed with a smiley face drawn on it rolls past a pothole filled with glowing green sludge. Above, a sky of swirling, blood-orange storm clouds parts to reveal a grinning, metallic moon wearing a monocle, casting a spotlight on the scene. The lighting is dramatic and surreal, with harsh shadows and vibrant, clashing colors, blending hyper-detailed textures with bold, inked comic-book outlines and halftone dots, evoking a darkly humorous, pop-surrealist masterpiece in the vein of a twisted, high-budget animated film still.