Unit 7 on the till

Unit 7, Unit 7, a clunky retro robot about human height, a cream and violet painted steel body with rivets and scuffs, a boxy old CRT television for a head whose green screen shows a simple pixel face, accordion-hose arms, rubber pincer hands, a name badge reading UNIT 7; and Dolores, a 78-year-old white woman who is a competitive bodybuilder: very muscular, defined shoulders and arms, deep bronze tan, silver buzz cut, strong jaw, laugh lines, big gold hoop earrings, wearing a sparkly gold sequinned posing bikini under an open white terry-cloth robe. Unit 7 working the till of a painted corner store, its CRT face showing a polite smile, while the queue in front of it is six identical copies of Dolores in her robe, each holding a single carton of milk, fluorescent light, flowers in buckets by the door. Unit 7 scans cartons at frantic speed, arms blurring, its pixel face spinning through expressions, the line of identical Doloreses advancing in perfect lockstep and flexing in unison; the camera tracks fast along the queue from the back to the till and whip pans onto Unit 7's screen.