The richness of the food would probably make him sick, so unaccustomed to solid food was his digestive tract by now, but it would be worth the pain.
And it was then that he saw the knife.
It lay there on the tray, its honed edge glittering in the light of the sun. A sharp knife, capable of cutting steak—or flesh of any kind.
"Well, how do you like your birthday present, Mr. Symmes?"
He looked up quickly at the woman standing beside the tray. The yellow pallor of her middle-aged skin matched the color of her uniform. She wore the insignia of a geriatrics supervisor.
He let a little smile flicker across his face. "Why, it's ... it's wonderful. I never expected it at all. It's been so long, you know. So very long."
How could he get rid of her? If he tried anything with her watching, she would stop him. And then he'd never get another chance.
"I'm glad you like it, Mr. Symmes. Synthetic foods do get tiresome after a while, don't they?"
The idea came with suddenness and he responded to it quickly.
"But where are my pink pills? I always take them at lunch."