“Not at all.” He smiles. “What would you like to drink? I've got milk and I think there's some orange juice left...”

He starts making his sandwich, lettuce, tomato, cheese, quite a bit of turkey. Everything's already cut, sealed securely in zip-lock bags. (Some days he can't stand the thought of picking up a knife, he's learned to prepare for his worst days on his better ones.)

“I don't have any mayonnaise, sorry. Do you like mayonnaise?”