Late one evening, I arrived home, hankering for some friends bits. I peeled and flowered a small onion, made a batter, and fried it. Not having a deep frier, I heated some oil in a small bowl, fried the onion, and enjoyed it.

So, what to do with the oil?

Caring about our drain, I deposited the oil in an empty peanut butter jar, and placed it on the window sill above the sink.

Darkness washed over this Dude.

Arising refreshed — maybe a little bit worse for having a fried onion in me — I descended from the 3rd floor lofts to the kitchen, bearing my glass to fill with water. Turning the faucet, I filled my glass, quaffed it hungrily, and lifted my gaze to look out the window.

Illuminated by the morning light, colored by the gilded hue of safflower oil, two eyes were locked to mine … attached to a small, mousey visage, floating upside down in the jar I had placed on the sill the night before.

I shrieked like a little girl.

__armando