Dolores shops. She walks through the markets daily, wanders the same stalls, and greets the same people. She is a creature of habit, fundamentally--in fact, she hardly seems to notice the repetition. Today, however, there is a new storefront and it catches her eye. It's hard to say why it does, or what about the words draw her in, but Dolores walks into the shop with the counter.

"Try...frozen sweet milk?" Dolores asks as she reads the sign. There is a long pause as she peers at it and eventually she seems to remember what she was saying. "Is that like icecream?"