I don’t know why I stopped. Maybe guilt. Maybe curiosity. He looked like someone’s grandfather, hands rough, posture proud, not a trace of salesmanship in his eyes.

I rolled down the window. “How much?”

He didn’t smile. Just nodded toward the plastic cup he’d set out. “Taste first.”

The milk was cold, fresh, better than anything in the stores. I handed him cash and drove off with a bottle in the passenger seat, feeling like I’d just bought something from another century.