Foster reached into his shirt pocket, never breaking eye contact, and slowly pulled out… a granola bar. “These have raisins in them,” he said in a tone not entirely befitting a person of his high rank in the hospital. I blinked at him. “Wait… what?” Foster let out a peal of laughter and tossed the snack to me. “These are raisins, not chocolate chips. I bit into one in the middle of a meeting, and I almost choked. I had to pretend I was having a heart attack, because that was less embarrassing than admitting pending death by raisin ambush.”
