Usually, Rafi had a cook come in once a week, like a cobbler’s elf leaving fresh fruit and frozen casseroles in her wake. It really wasn’t that expensive, and a lot less trouble than trying to learn how to cook for himself. She was on vacation, however, and Rafi, as a full-grown adult human, could look after himself for two weeks. No question. No problem.
How long exactly, he wondered as he loaded his cart with cans of superhero-shaped pasta, did it take to get scurvy? What vitamin was it that prevented scurvy? Was it in tomato sauce? The cans said “vitamin-enriched”…
A young man pushing his own cart down the same aisle gave Rafi a narrow look, but continued without stopping. Impossible to say if he’d recognized him or was just judging his choices. Rafi didn’t get recognized that often,
