“What are you doing?” George grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled it away from the stove.
“I’m cooking. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you are burning! Fire and smoke and the alarm going off usually mean burning, Harry.”
Harry turned back to the stove and pushed the scorched potatoes around the skillet.
“Are you following a recipe?” George scanned the counter for a recipe card or cookbook or something that showed Harry was actually following a plan.
“Nah, I’m winging it. I put the potatoes in the skillet with some oil and onions. Then I just started cooking. I read that somewhere and just decided I would try it. Sounded easy enough. Want to try it? I can get you a plate.”
“Gee, thanks, Harry, but I just ate. You have fun with that. So, listen, I gotta go.”
George headed for the door.
Harry kept cooking and waved George goodbye. “Yeah - see ya.”
Harry sat down with his potato and onion fry-up. “Well, he might be right, This does taste a little burnt.” He threw the food in the trash and opened a window.
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