Elly watched Brad head for his upstairs office for the second time one Saturday.  First after breakfast, now after lunch. “You’re a robot,” she called out, as she cleared the dishes from their lovely lunch of whole-grain pasta stewed with fresh-cut vegetables and a side of steamed brown rice. She worked hard to keep him healthy, and she deserved a little attention. Not today. Butt back in his chair, he refreshed the computer screen and continued entering data for the third medical report of the day. Pushing sixty, preparing for retirement, he thought of Mo dying alone in his beat-up trailer, or Natalie waiting for the next government so she…