A quiet street lined by mid-sized buildings. Most of these are fronted by stores at ground-level, shuttered hair salons or bakeries, even a small butcher shop. Street lamps burn at regular intervals, their orange pools acting as a counterpoint to the drab monochrome of concrete and darkened brick. Abruptly, the window of a second floor apartment is thrown open, and a woman's body appears at the edge. It rests there for a moment, slouch-backed, before it falls and lands with a sickening thud on the pavement. The woman is still, her long, shapely limbs splayed wildly, her left leg wrenched back at the knee, obviously broken. She is dressed in a maid's uniform, her shoulders only half covered by wide, puffy sleeves, with a pair of decorative lace cuffs around her wrists. The impact has dislodged one of her shoes, a red leather pump with a four inch heel, and her short, black skirt has been dragged well above her knees. A corona of fine, yellow hair frames her head, partly concealing her face.
The body lies where it fell, and the street goes on as before. Gradually the sky begins to lighten. A large, black crow sweeps over the road, lighting softly on one of the power lines suspended above the body. The crow lets out a single, shattering caw, and across the street a tall, thickly built man emerges from one of the houses. His eyes are drawn to the body. He glances up the street, as if expecting an ambulance or police car to appear. Neither does, and the man approaches the body. His hand trembles as he reaches to touch the woman's shoulder.
Two glass eyes gaze up at him from a perfect, lifeless face. The man exhales sharply; it's only a doll, and this close he wonders how he could have mistaken it for a real woman. The doll's skin is too smooth, and its hair is obviously synthetic. Then there is the uncanny stillness of the thing – even a dead woman would seem more alive.
The man steps back, wiping his hands on the front of his pants with a puzzled look on his face. Finally he turns away, leaving the doll where it is.