Han Dee needed the butter, but a gallon of milk claimed his left hand, and a bottle of pickles ruled over his right. The dilemma froze him before the refrigerators in aisle two, his gray eyes hazing over with calculations. A basket would solve this, but it meant a long walk to the front of the store and a longer walk back. He could try to fit the pickle jar in his pocket, but the frowning clerk with red hair as wide as it was tall restocking the yogurt might think he was a thief.
Han closed his eyes, remembering a trip to the store with his mother when she swore off a cart when none were easily available and she was certain the shopping trip's success could occur without one. She had a bottle of peanuts in one hand, a gallon of milk in the other, and she too needed butter. Without hesitation, she hooked two her fingers through the milk jug, letting it dangle, then reached into the case to secure the butter between the remaining free fingers of her jug-hauling hand.
Han lacked her skills, so he rested the milk on a pile of cream cheese packages to snatch the butter. He had it.
He looked back down to recover the milk. It was gone. He looked again. Did someone take it? The clerk? No. Another customer? No one around him had a gallon of milk in their basket or hand. The jug simply vanished. Getting another one meant another walk, another discarding and another grasping. And he wasn't sure if the butter wouldn't be subject to the same laws as the milk, and vanish when he let go of it, even if just for a moment.
This not being, that is not; from the cessation of this, that ceases.