Music fills the air as she pushes her grocery cart down each aisle. It's that really annoying music that they always play in grocery stores, as if they are trying to make it drive you crazy so you grab your can of peas and get out of there as fast as you can to escape the awfulness of twisted melodies that were once familiar and beloved. But she doesn't hear the music, deep in thought, as she slowly pushes her grocery cart down each aisle, examining each label carefully before she puts any item in her cart. The grocery store is a strange place, where strangers stand next to each other examining the most intimate and embarassing of items on their chicken-scratch paper lists, and never looking at the person who stands beside them with a chicken-scratch list of their own. She, for example, doesn't even glance at the women next to her as they select their cans of diet shakes. A common thread units them in the quest for good health, and yet they ignore that thread. Her cart filled with provisions, she goes to the check-out line and stands there silently as the chatty cashier rings everything up. But all of a sudden, something captures her attention.