Oh, no, ¿Lubricant?

As was his custom, he went out jogging at dawn, a healthy habit from his school days. He went through the nearest park without losing pace; exercise helped him clear his mind. He returned to the apartment an hour and a half later.

It was already past six in the morning on that wonderful Friday, promising to be a less busy day than the previous ones. He called the butler but couldn't find him anywhere. Finally, he headed to the kitchen to find something to have for breakfast. He found a note attached to the refrigerator door. The characters seemed somewhat childish, and he immediately understood it had been written by Sotomayor's own hand. He smiled as he read: "Tanarro: Michael is sick, so I gave him the day off. Here's the shopping list you need to take care of... See you later, Sotomayor."

His face turned horrified: Going to the supermarket to buy groceries! He remembered that he had never done anything like that. When he lived in the mans