“I said blue, señor.”
“But this is blue, a beautiful ultramarine blue, mira usté’—just look,” and he held it up to the reflected sunlight that streamed in at the only opening to the shop,—the doorway.
“No, señor, I want blue.”
Shopkeeper, dreamily, “Ah, señor, no hay—there are none. But you can find them en to’as partes—anywhere. You are French, perhaps, señor?”
“Perhaps.” Here I caught sight of a bundle of blue handkerchiefs in plain view on a lower shelf, and pointed them out. “How much?”
Shopkeeper: “Te—Fifteen pesos, señor.”
“You must take me for a tourist, or a gringo. I’ll give you five.”
“Very well, señor, muchas gracias, buenos días, adiós pués.”
Or perhaps the stranger wishes to visit some local celebrity and pauses in a shop-door to ask:
“Can you tell me where Dr. Medrano lives?”