During the morning..Evelyn opens the mint-green front door, sunlight catching the shine of her pearl earrings. A clunky, chrome robot milkman with a crate chest and a blinking red visor steps onto the porch, steam hissing from its joints. Robot Milkman: Good morning, Mrs. Evelyn. One quart, low-radiation, pasteurized. As prescribed..Previous milk integrity compromised. Apologies. Recalibrating... dairy logic...
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