Your cart ride doesn't have the service you expected. It's cold and shakes and squeaks, but at least the groceries above your head give you shade and cover from most eyes around.
You look around and see the aisle move slowly by. You know the direction you're moving under power of the two gigantic legs behind you. Had this woman wanted to go to the canned fruit aisle she would have made a left, the snack aisle a left, but no, she goes straight.
"Check out," you say startled by the briefness of the ride. "Oh, no." Do I really want to go home with this woman? I mean, Hell, I... wait! Those shoes! Those long black, baggy pants! "Dana!"
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