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The Cold Bag
Marcus wanted Mrs. Quinn to take the bag. She had come for it, and then she had stayed on the customer side of the counter with her hands in her coat, watching a video with the sound almost off. The caption promised tiny machines that would swim to the trouble and deal with it. Her face had the careful look of a person about to leave a thing behind. The bag sat between them in a cold sleeve, the outside beaded with water from the warm shop. A return meant paperwork, and a conversation he had already started to lose.
"They are not machines," he said, and heard how thin it was. He reached for something brighter. "They are very small, and they know where to go."
Helen came out of the back room with a pen behind her ear and caught the second sentence.