Write the right answer to the question based on the context passage.

Trying to drive up a very small street with cars parked on both sides so only one car at a time could get by, individual sees me already entered the roadway, got in the car backs out of his driveway, intending to for me to back all the way out. I was about half in. I wait thinking he will realize it was a not so smart action and he will pull back in to let me pass since forward is an easier safer plan. He doesn't do that we sit for anout 30 seconds and he is determined to stay. I was a fairly new driver in my first car. I get irritated and shut my motor off basically saying, buddy I entered the street first you were parked never looked before you hurriedly pulled forward. So he shuts off his motor and smiled good as to say stalemate. I'm thinking I have no place I have to be, I'll wait rather than trying to back up half the block without hitting somebodies car. We wait, he gets out of his car goes into his house, no cell phone back then it was the pager (beepers) era. I wasnt sure why he was going in, but probably nit good outcome for me. So I happened to have a small bottle of Keri Lotion (thick, oily lotion for extremely dry skin) in the cup holder. I jump out of my car run to his squirted the whole bottle all over his windshield ran back to my car and DID manage to back up rapidly without damaging my car or anyone! He ran out of the house and I saw by his facial expression was livid! I was thinking as I drove away I hope he doesn't try to use the wipers, that's going to make a really smear mess. He's not going anyplace for a while. Years later I regretted having done that, letting a stranger provoke me, and second felt guilty about the sheer gleeful triumph of seeing his face. I won! Question: Whose lotion is used?
The author

A long time ago, when humans still lived in cities, on a cold morning near the end of a long, cruel winter, in magnificent Central Park in the middle of magnificent New York City, a young squirrel named Patch was awakened very early by the growls of his empty stomach. A squirrel's home is called a drey. Patch's drey was very comfortable. He lived high up an old oak tree, in a hollowed-out stump of a big branch that had long ago been cut off by humans. The entrance was only just big enough for Patch to squeeze in and out, but the drey itself was spacious, for a squirrel. Patch had lined his drey with dry leaves, grasses and bits of newspaper. It was warm and dry, and on that cold morning he would have liked nothing better than to stay home all day and sleep. But he was so hungry. Hunger filled him like water fills a glass. The cherry and maple trees had not yet started to bud; flowers had not yet begun to grow; the juicy grubs and bugs of spring had not yet emerged; and it had been two days since Patch had found a nut. Imagine how hungry you would feel if you went two whole days without eating, and you may have some idea how Patch felt that morning. Patch poked his head out of the drey into the cold air and shivered as he looked around. Clumps of white, crumbly ice still clung to the ground. Gusts of cold wind shook and rustled the trees' bare branches. The pale and distant sun seemed drained of heat. Patch took a moment to satisfy himself that there were no dangers nearby, no hawk circling above or unleashed dog below. Then he emerged from his drey and began to look for acorns. But what marvels, what miracles, what mysteries are hidden inside those simple words! Question: Who was hungry?
a squirrel

As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital." Question: Who took the box?

Darby

