Question: What new employee benefit did Netflix recently introduce?

Answer: unlimited parental leave

“What I worry about is how unidimensional computer science students have become as a result of the rigor of the curriculum,” Mr. Sacca said. “They don’t get to study abroad. They don’t have summer jobs. They don’t wait on tables — what you get is a 23-year-old engineer at Google yelling at a chef because they ran out of pheasant that day. They don’t understand how people get by in the developing worlds. They don’t know anyone trying to make payday loan payments. I really worry about how homogeneous our culture is getting in Silicon Valley because of the lack of experience.” Some Silicon Valley chiefs are trying to steer the culture from the top. Netflix’s chief executive and one of its founders, Reed Hastings, says he takes six weeks of vacation a year and hopes the company’s leave policies will inspire loyalty and trust with his workers. <hl> The company, which has long had unlimited vacation for employees, recently introduced unlimited parental leave . <hl>

“What I worry about is how unidimensional computer science students have become as a result of the rigor of the curriculum,” Mr. Sacca said. “They don’t get to study abroad. They don’t have summer jobs. They don’t wait on tables — what you get is a 23-year-old engineer at Google yelling at a chef because they ran out of pheasant that day. They don’t understand how people get by in the developing worlds. They don’t know anyone trying to make payday loan payments. I really worry about how homogeneous our culture is getting in Silicon Valley because of the lack of experience.” Some Silicon Valley chiefs are trying to steer the culture from the top. Netflix’s chief executive and one of its founders, Reed Hastings, says he takes six weeks of vacation a year and hopes the company’s leave policies will inspire loyalty and trust with his workers. The company, which has long had unlimited vacation for employees, recently introduced <hl> unlimited parental leave <hl>.

The company, which has long had unlimited vacation for employees, recently introduced <hl> unlimited parental leave <hl> .


Question: Where was the cruise ship figuratively headed?

We’ll never know what the first three days on the Beautiful Dreamer were like, but when Sarah Lotz’s satirical scream of a novel, DAY FOUR (Little, Brown, $26), opens, the cruise ship is figuratively dead on course for the Bermuda Triangle. A fire has broken out in the engine room, and the chief engineer is too badly burned to stay at his post. For some mysterious reason, the ship’s S O S messages have gone unanswered, and by Day 5, the ship has lost all power, and a raging norovirus is taking its toll on the passengers. And what an unlovely group they are: the happy-slappy Australian cruise director; two friends who have made a suicide pact; a “sick, manipulative con artist” who develops true psychic abilities; and assorted ghosts. Oh, and a killer named Gary. If this tub ever makes it back to Miami, sign me up for the next cruise.

Answer: the Bermuda Triangle

<hl> We’ll never know what the first three days on the Beautiful Dreamer were like, but when Sarah Lotz’s satirical scream of a novel, DAY FOUR (Little, Brown, $26), opens, the cruise ship is figuratively dead on course for the Bermuda Triangle . <hl> A fire has broken out in the engine room, and the chief engineer is too badly burned to stay at his post. For some mysterious reason, the ship’s S O S messages have gone unanswered, and by Day 5, the ship has lost all power, and a raging norovirus is taking its toll on the passengers. And what an unlovely group they are: the happy-slappy Australian cruise director; two friends who have made a suicide pact; a “sick, manipulative con artist” who develops true psychic abilities; and assorted ghosts. Oh, and a killer named Gary. If this tub ever makes it back to Miami, sign me up for the next cruise.

We’ll never know what the first three days on the Beautiful Dreamer were like, but when Sarah Lotz’s satirical scream of a novel, DAY FOUR (Little, Brown, $26), opens, the cruise ship is figuratively dead on course for <hl> the Bermuda Triangle <hl>. A fire has broken out in the engine room, and the chief engineer is too badly burned to stay at his post. For some mysterious reason, the ship’s S O S messages have gone unanswered, and by Day 5, the ship has lost all power, and a raging norovirus is taking its toll on the passengers. And what an unlovely group they are: the happy-slappy Australian cruise director; two friends who have made a suicide pact; a “sick, manipulative con artist” who develops true psychic abilities; and assorted ghosts. Oh, and a killer named Gary. If this tub ever makes it back to Miami, sign me up for the next cruise.

We’ll never know what the first three days on the Beautiful Dreamer were like, but when Sarah Lotz’s satirical scream of a novel, DAY FOUR (Little, Brown, $26), opens, the cruise ship is figuratively dead on course for <hl> the Bermuda Triangle <hl> .


Question: Why couldn't the chief engineer stay at his post?

Answer: too badly burned

We’ll never know what the first three days on the Beautiful Dreamer were like, but when Sarah Lotz’s satirical scream of a novel, DAY FOUR (Little, Brown, $26), opens, the cruise ship is figuratively dead on course for the Bermuda Triangle. <hl> A fire has broken out in the engine room, and the chief engineer is too badly burned to stay at his post. <hl> For some mysterious reason, the ship’s S O S messages have gone unanswered, and by Day 5, the ship has lost all power, and a raging norovirus is taking its toll on the passengers. And what an unlovely group they are: the happy-slappy Australian cruise director; two friends who have made a suicide pact; a “sick, manipulative con artist” who develops true psychic abilities; and assorted ghosts. Oh, and a killer named Gary. If this tub ever makes it back to Miami, sign me up for the next cruise.

We’ll never know what the first three days on the Beautiful Dreamer were like, but when Sarah Lotz’s satirical scream of a novel, DAY FOUR (Little, Brown, $26), opens, the cruise ship is figuratively dead on course for the Bermuda Triangle. A fire has broken out in the engine room, and the chief engineer is <hl> too badly burned <hl> to stay at his post. For some mysterious reason, the ship’s S O S messages have gone unanswered, and by Day 5, the ship has lost all power, and a raging norovirus is taking its toll on the passengers. And what an unlovely group they are: the happy-slappy Australian cruise director; two friends who have made a suicide pact; a “sick, manipulative con artist” who develops true psychic abilities; and assorted ghosts. Oh, and a killer named Gary. If this tub ever makes it back to Miami, sign me up for the next cruise.


Question: What nationality is the cruise director?

Answer: Australian

We’ll never know what the first three days on the Beautiful Dreamer were like, but when Sarah Lotz’s satirical scream of a novel, DAY FOUR (Little, Brown, $26), opens, the cruise ship is figuratively dead on course for the Bermuda Triangle. A fire has broken out in the engine room, and the chief engineer is too badly burned to stay at his post. For some mysterious reason, the ship’s S O S messages have gone unanswered, and by Day 5, the ship has lost all power, and a raging norovirus is taking its toll on the passengers. <hl> And what an unlovely group they are: the happy-slappy Australian cruise director; two friends who have made a suicide pact; a “sick, manipulative con artist” who develops true psychic abilities; and assorted ghosts. <hl> Oh, and a killer named Gary. If this tub ever makes it back to Miami, sign me up for the next cruise.

We’ll never know what the first three days on the Beautiful Dreamer were like, but when Sarah Lotz’s satirical scream of a novel, DAY FOUR (Little, Brown, $26), opens, the cruise ship is figuratively dead on course for the Bermuda Triangle. A fire has broken out in the engine room, and the chief engineer is too badly burned to stay at his post. For some mysterious reason, the ship’s S O S messages have gone unanswered, and by Day 5, the ship has lost all power, and a raging norovirus is taking its toll on the passengers. And what an unlovely group they are: the happy-slappy <hl> Australian <hl> cruise director; two friends who have made a suicide pact; a “sick, manipulative con artist” who develops true psychic abilities; and assorted ghosts. Oh, and a killer named Gary. If this tub ever makes it back to Miami, sign me up for the next cruise.


Question: Where did the ship set sail from?

Answer: Miami

We’ll never know what the first three days on the Beautiful Dreamer were like, but when Sarah Lotz’s satirical scream of a novel, DAY FOUR (Little, Brown, $26), opens, the cruise ship is figuratively dead on course for the Bermuda Triangle. A fire has broken out in the engine room, and the chief engineer is too badly burned to stay at his post. For some mysterious reason, the ship’s S O S messages have gone unanswered, and by Day 5, the ship has lost all power, and a raging norovirus is taking its toll on the passengers. And what an unlovely group they are: the happy-slappy Australian cruise director; two friends who have made a suicide pact; a “sick, manipulative con artist” who develops true psychic abilities; and assorted ghosts. Oh, and a killer named Gary. <hl> If this tub ever makes it back to Miami , sign me up for the next cruise. <hl>

We’ll never know what the first three days on the Beautiful Dreamer were like, but when Sarah Lotz’s satirical scream of a novel, DAY FOUR (Little, Brown, $26), opens, the cruise ship is figuratively dead on course for the Bermuda Triangle. A fire has broken out in the engine room, and the chief engineer is too badly burned to stay at his post. For some mysterious reason, the ship’s S O S messages have gone unanswered, and by Day 5, the ship has lost all power, and a raging norovirus is taking its toll on the passengers. And what an unlovely group they are: the happy-slappy Australian cruise director; two friends who have made a suicide pact; a “sick, manipulative con artist” who develops true psychic abilities; and assorted ghosts. Oh, and a killer named Gary. If this tub ever makes it back to <hl> Miami <hl>, sign me up for the next cruise.

If this tub ever makes it back to <hl> Miami <hl> , sign me up for the next cruise.


Question: What is the name of the ship?

Answer: Beautiful Dreamer

<hl> We’ll never know what the first three days on the Beautiful Dreamer were like, but when Sarah Lotz’s satirical scream of a novel, DAY FOUR (Little, Brown, $26), opens, the cruise ship is figuratively dead on course for the Bermuda Triangle. <hl> A fire has broken out in the engine room, and the chief engineer is too badly burned to stay at his post. For some mysterious reason, the ship’s S O S messages have gone unanswered, and by Day 5, the ship has lost all power, and a raging norovirus is taking its toll on the passengers. And what an unlovely group they are: the happy-slappy Australian cruise director; two friends who have made a suicide pact; a “sick, manipulative con artist” who develops true psychic abilities; and assorted ghosts. Oh, and a killer named Gary. If this tub ever makes it back to Miami, sign me up for the next cruise.

We’ll never know what the first three days on the <hl> Beautiful Dreamer <hl> were like, but when Sarah Lotz’s satirical scream of a novel, DAY FOUR (Little, Brown, $26), opens, the cruise ship is figuratively dead on course for the Bermuda Triangle. A fire has broken out in the engine room, and the chief engineer is too badly burned to stay at his post. For some mysterious reason, the ship’s S O S messages have gone unanswered, and by Day 5, the ship has lost all power, and a raging norovirus is taking its toll on the passengers. And what an unlovely group they are: the happy-slappy Australian cruise director; two friends who have made a suicide pact; a “sick, manipulative con artist” who develops true psychic abilities; and assorted ghosts. Oh, and a killer named Gary. If this tub ever makes it back to Miami, sign me up for the next cruise.


Question: Who agreed to accompany Helen to the hanging?

⬥ “I’d be delighted,” replies John Delahunt, a student at Trinity College, when the young socialite Helen Stokes asks him to accompany her to a hanging. That colorful street entertainment is one of many striking set pieces in THE CONVICTIONS OF JOHN DELAHUNT (Pegasus, $24.95), a remarkable first novel that Andrew Hughes has set in 1840s Dublin and based on crimes of that period. The lovely Helen seems the perfect mate for Delahunt, who was executed, for killing a little boy, in full view of a mob of 10,000 souls in 1842. Hughes challenges historical accounts of Delahunt’s infamous career with an incisive portrait of an impoverished scholar lured into becoming a paid police informant. Urged by his corrupt handlers to bring them murderers (the big money is always in murder), he starts framing innocent people and then, in desperation, begins committing crimes himself. At once a close character study and a sweeping panorama of the era of “dissectionists” who buy bodies for medical research and the “resurrectionists” who dig them up, this fascinating book is a stirring work of fiction and a perceptive chapter in Ireland’s social history. ⬥

Answer: John Delahunt

<hl> ⬥ “I’d be delighted,” replies John Delahunt , a student at Trinity College, when the young socialite Helen Stokes asks him to accompany her to a hanging. <hl> That colorful street entertainment is one of many striking set pieces in THE CONVICTIONS OF JOHN DELAHUNT (Pegasus, $24.95), a remarkable first novel that Andrew Hughes has set in 1840s Dublin and based on crimes of that period. The lovely Helen seems the perfect mate for Delahunt, who was executed, for killing a little boy, in full view of a mob of 10,000 souls in 1842. Hughes challenges historical accounts of Delahunt’s infamous career with an incisive portrait of an impoverished scholar lured into becoming a paid police informant. Urged by his corrupt handlers to bring them murderers (the big money is always in murder), he starts framing innocent people and then, in desperation, begins committing crimes himself. At once a close character study and a sweeping panorama of the era of “dissectionists” who buy bodies for medical research and the “resurrectionists” who dig them up, this fascinating book is a stirring work of fiction and a perceptive chapter in Ireland’s social history. ⬥

⬥ “I’d be delighted,” replies <hl> John Delahunt <hl>, a student at Trinity College, when the young socialite Helen Stokes asks him to accompany her to a hanging. That colorful street entertainment is one of many striking set pieces in THE CONVICTIONS OF JOHN DELAHUNT (Pegasus, $24.95), a remarkable first novel that Andrew Hughes has set in 1840s Dublin and based on crimes of that period. The lovely Helen seems the perfect mate for Delahunt, who was executed, for killing a little boy, in full view of a mob of 10,000 souls in 1842. Hughes challenges historical accounts of Delahunt’s infamous career with an incisive portrait of an impoverished scholar lured into becoming a paid police informant. Urged by his corrupt handlers to bring them murderers (the big money is always in murder), he starts framing innocent people and then, in desperation, begins committing crimes himself. At once a close character study and a sweeping panorama of the era of “dissectionists” who buy bodies for medical research and the “resurrectionists” who dig them up, this fascinating book is a stirring work of fiction and a perceptive chapter in Ireland’s social history. ⬥

⬥ “I’d be delighted,” replies <hl> John Delahunt <hl> , a student at Trinity College, when the young socialite Helen Stokes asks him to accompany her to a hanging.


Question: What city does this story take place in?

Answer: Dublin

⬥ “I’d be delighted,” replies John Delahunt, a student at Trinity College, when the young socialite Helen Stokes asks him to accompany her to a hanging. <hl> That colorful street entertainment is one of many striking set pieces in THE CONVICTIONS OF JOHN DELAHUNT (Pegasus, $24.95), a remarkable first novel that Andrew Hughes has set in 1840s Dublin and based on crimes of that period. <hl> The lovely Helen seems the perfect mate for Delahunt, who was executed, for killing a little boy, in full view of a mob of 10,000 souls in 1842. Hughes challenges historical accounts of Delahunt’s infamous career with an incisive portrait of an impoverished scholar lured into becoming a paid police informant. Urged by his corrupt handlers to bring them murderers (the big money is always in murder), he starts framing innocent people and then, in desperation, begins committing crimes himself. At once a close character study and a sweeping panorama of the era of “dissectionists” who buy bodies for medical research and the “resurrectionists” who dig them up, this fascinating book is a stirring work of fiction and a perceptive chapter in Ireland’s social history. ⬥

⬥ “I’d be delighted,” replies John Delahunt, a student at Trinity College, when the young socialite Helen Stokes asks him to accompany her to a hanging. That colorful street entertainment is one of many striking set pieces in THE CONVICTIONS OF JOHN DELAHUNT (Pegasus, $24.95), a remarkable first novel that Andrew Hughes has set in 1840s <hl> Dublin <hl> and based on crimes of that period. The lovely Helen seems the perfect mate for Delahunt, who was executed, for killing a little boy, in full view of a mob of 10,000 souls in 1842. Hughes challenges historical accounts of Delahunt’s infamous career with an incisive portrait of an impoverished scholar lured into becoming a paid police informant. Urged by his corrupt handlers to bring them murderers (the big money is always in murder), he starts framing innocent people and then, in desperation, begins committing crimes himself. At once a close character study and a sweeping panorama of the era of “dissectionists” who buy bodies for medical research and the “resurrectionists” who dig them up, this fascinating book is a stirring work of fiction and a perceptive chapter in Ireland’s social history. ⬥


Question: What was the street entertainment?

Answer: a hanging

<hl> ⬥ “I’d be delighted,” replies John Delahunt, a student at Trinity College, when the young socialite Helen Stokes asks him to accompany her to a hanging . <hl> That colorful street entertainment is one of many striking set pieces in THE CONVICTIONS OF JOHN DELAHUNT (Pegasus, $24.95), a remarkable first novel that Andrew Hughes has set in 1840s Dublin and based on crimes of that period. The lovely Helen seems the perfect mate for Delahunt, who was executed, for killing a little boy, in full view of a mob of 10,000 souls in 1842. Hughes challenges historical accounts of Delahunt’s infamous career with an incisive portrait of an impoverished scholar lured into becoming a paid police informant. Urged by his corrupt handlers to bring them murderers (the big money is always in murder), he starts framing innocent people and then, in desperation, begins committing crimes himself. At once a close character study and a sweeping panorama of the era of “dissectionists” who buy bodies for medical research and the “resurrectionists” who dig them up, this fascinating book is a stirring work of fiction and a perceptive chapter in Ireland’s social history. ⬥

⬥ “I’d be delighted,” replies John Delahunt, a student at Trinity College, when the young socialite Helen Stokes asks him to accompany her to <hl> a hanging <hl>. That colorful street entertainment is one of many striking set pieces in THE CONVICTIONS OF JOHN DELAHUNT (Pegasus, $24.95), a remarkable first novel that Andrew Hughes has set in 1840s Dublin and based on crimes of that period. The lovely Helen seems the perfect mate for Delahunt, who was executed, for killing a little boy, in full view of a mob of 10,000 souls in 1842. Hughes challenges historical accounts of Delahunt’s infamous career with an incisive portrait of an impoverished scholar lured into becoming a paid police informant. Urged by his corrupt handlers to bring them murderers (the big money is always in murder), he starts framing innocent people and then, in desperation, begins committing crimes himself. At once a close character study and a sweeping panorama of the era of “dissectionists” who buy bodies for medical research and the “resurrectionists” who dig them up, this fascinating book is a stirring work of fiction and a perceptive chapter in Ireland’s social history. ⬥

⬥ “I’d be delighted,” replies John Delahunt, a student at Trinity College, when the young socialite Helen Stokes asks him to accompany her to <hl> a hanging <hl> .


Question: What country is this story set in?

Answer: Ireland

⬥ “I’d be delighted,” replies John Delahunt, a student at Trinity College, when the young socialite Helen Stokes asks him to accompany her to a hanging. That colorful street entertainment is one of many striking set pieces in THE CONVICTIONS OF JOHN DELAHUNT (Pegasus, $24.95), a remarkable first novel that Andrew Hughes has set in 1840s Dublin and based on crimes of that period. The lovely Helen seems the perfect mate for Delahunt, who was executed, for killing a little boy, in full view of a mob of 10,000 souls in 1842. Hughes challenges historical accounts of Delahunt’s infamous career with an incisive portrait of an impoverished scholar lured into becoming a paid police informant. Urged by his corrupt handlers to bring them murderers (the big money is always in murder), he starts framing innocent people and then, in desperation, begins committing crimes himself. <hl> At once a close character study and a sweeping panorama of the era of “dissectionists” who buy bodies for medical research and the “resurrectionists” who dig them up, this fascinating book is a stirring work of fiction and a perceptive chapter in Ireland ’s social history. <hl> ⬥

⬥ “I’d be delighted,” replies John Delahunt, a student at Trinity College, when the young socialite Helen Stokes asks him to accompany her to a hanging. That colorful street entertainment is one of many striking set pieces in THE CONVICTIONS OF JOHN DELAHUNT (Pegasus, $24.95), a remarkable first novel that Andrew Hughes has set in 1840s Dublin and based on crimes of that period. The lovely Helen seems the perfect mate for Delahunt, who was executed, for killing a little boy, in full view of a mob of 10,000 souls in 1842. Hughes challenges historical accounts of Delahunt’s infamous career with an incisive portrait of an impoverished scholar lured into becoming a paid police informant. Urged by his corrupt handlers to bring them murderers (the big money is always in murder), he starts framing innocent people and then, in desperation, begins committing crimes himself. At once a close character study and a sweeping panorama of the era of “dissectionists” who buy bodies for medical research and the “resurrectionists” who dig them up, this fascinating book is a stirring work of fiction and a perceptive chapter in <hl> Ireland <hl>’s social history. ⬥

At once a close character study and a sweeping panorama of the era of “dissectionists” who buy bodies for medical research and the “resurrectionists” who dig them up, this fascinating book is a stirring work of fiction and a perceptive chapter in <hl> Ireland <hl> ’s social history.


Question: Who was the perfect mate for John Delahunt?

Answer: Helen Stokes

<hl> ⬥ “I’d be delighted,” replies John Delahunt, a student at Trinity College, when the young socialite Helen Stokes asks him to accompany her to a hanging. <hl> That colorful street entertainment is one of many striking set pieces in THE CONVICTIONS OF JOHN DELAHUNT (Pegasus, $24.95), a remarkable first novel that Andrew Hughes has set in 1840s Dublin and based on crimes of that period. The lovely Helen seems the perfect mate for Delahunt, who was executed, for killing a little boy, in full view of a mob of 10,000 souls in 1842. Hughes challenges historical accounts of Delahunt’s infamous career with an incisive portrait of an impoverished scholar lured into becoming a paid police informant. Urged by his corrupt handlers to bring them murderers (the big money is always in murder), he starts framing innocent people and then, in desperation, begins committing crimes himself. At once a close character study and a sweeping panorama of the era of “dissectionists” who buy bodies for medical research and the “resurrectionists” who dig them up, this fascinating book is a stirring work of fiction and a perceptive chapter in Ireland’s social history. ⬥

⬥ “I’d be delighted,” replies John Delahunt, a student at Trinity College, when the young socialite <hl> Helen Stokes <hl> asks him to accompany her to a hanging. That colorful street entertainment is one of many striking set pieces in THE CONVICTIONS OF JOHN DELAHUNT (Pegasus, $24.95), a remarkable first novel that Andrew Hughes has set in 1840s Dublin and based on crimes of that period. The lovely Helen seems the perfect mate for Delahunt, who was executed, for killing a little boy, in full view of a mob of 10,000 souls in 1842. Hughes challenges historical accounts of Delahunt’s infamous career with an incisive portrait of an impoverished scholar lured into becoming a paid police informant. Urged by his corrupt handlers to bring them murderers (the big money is always in murder), he starts framing innocent people and then, in desperation, begins committing crimes himself. At once a close character study and a sweeping panorama of the era of “dissectionists” who buy bodies for medical research and the “resurrectionists” who dig them up, this fascinating book is a stirring work of fiction and a perceptive chapter in Ireland’s social history. ⬥


Question: Who posted a self-portrait photograph?

The photograph that Markisha McClenton posted on Instagram is a self-portrait, a close-up that is muted in dim light. She might be on her way to work. She might be coming home. Her workdays begin and end in the dark, and they are dark in between. She’s a lab technician in Jacksonville, Fla. Her specialty is blood. She has worked these dark hours since her son was 7. “Freedom,” she told me over the phone from her lab. That’s why she works these hours: The freedom to work at night and to raise her children during the days. To her, this is good fortune. She is smiling in this photo. But her eyes are midnight eyes, 3 a.m. eyes. Why take a photo at that hour? “People forget about us, the night shift,” she said. The #nightshift. That’s the hashtag she used. It’s how I found her. I’ve been working at night myself for a long time now. Once it was out of choice, a preference for the quiet hours. More recently it was because I had no choice. Insomnia. One night, I was drinking my third cup of coffee — because when you can’t sleep, you might as well stop trying — and ignoring the deadline looming the next morning. Instead, I stared at the matrix on my phone, my own red eyes scanning a tiny sample of some 670,000 photographs under #nightshift. Most of them were people like me, awake when they didn’t want to be awake. And like me, they were looking at the screen in their hands, held up by the one in mine.

Answer: Markisha McClenton

<hl> The photograph that Markisha McClenton posted on Instagram is a self-portrait, a close-up that is muted in dim light. <hl> She might be on her way to work. She might be coming home. Her workdays begin and end in the dark, and they are dark in between. She’s a lab technician in Jacksonville, Fla. Her specialty is blood. She has worked these dark hours since her son was 7. “Freedom,” she told me over the phone from her lab. That’s why she works these hours: The freedom to work at night and to raise her children during the days. To her, this is good fortune. She is smiling in this photo. But her eyes are midnight eyes, 3 a.m. eyes. Why take a photo at that hour? “People forget about us, the night shift,” she said. The #nightshift. That’s the hashtag she used. It’s how I found her. I’ve been working at night myself for a long time now. Once it was out of choice, a preference for the quiet hours. More recently it was because I had no choice. Insomnia. One night, I was drinking my third cup of coffee — because when you can’t sleep, you might as well stop trying — and ignoring the deadline looming the next morning. Instead, I stared at the matrix on my phone, my own red eyes scanning a tiny sample of some 670,000 photographs under #nightshift. Most of them were people like me, awake when they didn’t want to be awake. And like me, they were looking at the screen in their hands, held up by the one in mine.

The photograph that <hl> Markisha McClenton <hl> posted on Instagram is a self-portrait, a close-up that is muted in dim light. She might be on her way to work. She might be coming home. Her workdays begin and end in the dark, and they are dark in between. She’s a lab technician in Jacksonville, Fla. Her specialty is blood. She has worked these dark hours since her son was 7. “Freedom,” she told me over the phone from her lab. That’s why she works these hours: The freedom to work at night and to raise her children during the days. To her, this is good fortune. She is smiling in this photo. But her eyes are midnight eyes, 3 a.m. eyes. Why take a photo at that hour? “People forget about us, the night shift,” she said. The #nightshift. That’s the hashtag she used. It’s how I found her. I’ve been working at night myself for a long time now. Once it was out of choice, a preference for the quiet hours. More recently it was because I had no choice. Insomnia. One night, I was drinking my third cup of coffee — because when you can’t sleep, you might as well stop trying — and ignoring the deadline looming the next morning. Instead, I stared at the matrix on my phone, my own red eyes scanning a tiny sample of some 670,000 photographs under #nightshift. Most of them were people like me, awake when they didn’t want to be awake. And like me, they were looking at the screen in their hands, held up by the one in mine.


Question: What platform did Markisha post her photograph on?

Answer: Instagram

<hl> The photograph that Markisha McClenton posted on Instagram is a self-portrait, a close-up that is muted in dim light. <hl> She might be on her way to work. She might be coming home. Her workdays begin and end in the dark, and they are dark in between. She’s a lab technician in Jacksonville, Fla. Her specialty is blood. She has worked these dark hours since her son was 7. “Freedom,” she told me over the phone from her lab. That’s why she works these hours: The freedom to work at night and to raise her children during the days. To her, this is good fortune. She is smiling in this photo. But her eyes are midnight eyes, 3 a.m. eyes. Why take a photo at that hour? “People forget about us, the night shift,” she said. The #nightshift. That’s the hashtag she used. It’s how I found her. I’ve been working at night myself for a long time now. Once it was out of choice, a preference for the quiet hours. More recently it was because I had no choice. Insomnia. One night, I was drinking my third cup of coffee — because when you can’t sleep, you might as well stop trying — and ignoring the deadline looming the next morning. Instead, I stared at the matrix on my phone, my own red eyes scanning a tiny sample of some 670,000 photographs under #nightshift. Most of them were people like me, awake when they didn’t want to be awake. And like me, they were looking at the screen in their hands, held up by the one in mine.

The photograph that Markisha McClenton posted on <hl> Instagram <hl> is a self-portrait, a close-up that is muted in dim light. She might be on her way to work. She might be coming home. Her workdays begin and end in the dark, and they are dark in between. She’s a lab technician in Jacksonville, Fla. Her specialty is blood. She has worked these dark hours since her son was 7. “Freedom,” she told me over the phone from her lab. That’s why she works these hours: The freedom to work at night and to raise her children during the days. To her, this is good fortune. She is smiling in this photo. But her eyes are midnight eyes, 3 a.m. eyes. Why take a photo at that hour? “People forget about us, the night shift,” she said. The #nightshift. That’s the hashtag she used. It’s how I found her. I’ve been working at night myself for a long time now. Once it was out of choice, a preference for the quiet hours. More recently it was because I had no choice. Insomnia. One night, I was drinking my third cup of coffee — because when you can’t sleep, you might as well stop trying — and ignoring the deadline looming the next morning. Instead, I stared at the matrix on my phone, my own red eyes scanning a tiny sample of some 670,000 photographs under #nightshift. Most of them were people like me, awake when they didn’t want to be awake. And like me, they were looking at the screen in their hands, held up by the one in mine.


Question: What was Markisha's specialty?

Answer: blood

Her specialty is blood .

The photograph that Markisha McClenton posted on Instagram is a self-portrait, a close-up that is muted in dim light. She might be on her way to work. She might be coming home. Her workdays begin and end in the dark, and they are dark in between. She’s a lab technician in Jacksonville, Fla. <hl> Her specialty is blood . <hl> She has worked these dark hours since her son was 7. “Freedom,” she told me over the phone from her lab. That’s why she works these hours: The freedom to work at night and to raise her children during the days. To her, this is good fortune. She is smiling in this photo. But her eyes are midnight eyes, 3 a.m. eyes. Why take a photo at that hour? “People forget about us, the night shift,” she said. The #nightshift. That’s the hashtag she used. It’s how I found her. I’ve been working at night myself for a long time now. Once it was out of choice, a preference for the quiet hours. More recently it was because I had no choice. Insomnia. One night, I was drinking my third cup of coffee — because when you can’t sleep, you might as well stop trying — and ignoring the deadline looming the next morning. Instead, I stared at the matrix on my phone, my own red eyes scanning a tiny sample of some 670,000 photographs under #nightshift. Most of them were people like me, awake when they didn’t want to be awake. And like me, they were looking at the screen in their hands, held up by the one in mine.

The photograph that Markisha McClenton posted on Instagram is a self-portrait, a close-up that is muted in dim light. She might be on her way to work. She might be coming home. Her workdays begin and end in the dark, and they are dark in between. She’s a lab technician in Jacksonville, Fla. Her specialty is <hl> blood <hl>. She has worked these dark hours since her son was 7. “Freedom,” she told me over the phone from her lab. That’s why she works these hours: The freedom to work at night and to raise her children during the days. To her, this is good fortune. She is smiling in this photo. But her eyes are midnight eyes, 3 a.m. eyes. Why take a photo at that hour? “People forget about us, the night shift,” she said. The #nightshift. That’s the hashtag she used. It’s how I found her. I’ve been working at night myself for a long time now. Once it was out of choice, a preference for the quiet hours. More recently it was because I had no choice. Insomnia. One night, I was drinking my third cup of coffee — because when you can’t sleep, you might as well stop trying — and ignoring the deadline looming the next morning. Instead, I stared at the matrix on my phone, my own red eyes scanning a tiny sample of some 670,000 photographs under #nightshift. Most of them were people like me, awake when they didn’t want to be awake. And like me, they were looking at the screen in their hands, held up by the one in mine.


Question: Markisha used a hashtag, what was it?

Answer: #nightshift

The #nightshift .

The photograph that Markisha McClenton posted on Instagram is a self-portrait, a close-up that is muted in dim light. She might be on her way to work. She might be coming home. Her workdays begin and end in the dark, and they are dark in between. She’s a lab technician in Jacksonville, Fla. Her specialty is blood. She has worked these dark hours since her son was 7. “Freedom,” she told me over the phone from her lab. That’s why she works these hours: The freedom to work at night and to raise her children during the days. To her, this is good fortune. She is smiling in this photo. But her eyes are midnight eyes, 3 a.m. eyes. Why take a photo at that hour? “People forget about us, the night shift,” she said. <hl> The #nightshift . <hl> That’s the hashtag she used. It’s how I found her. I’ve been working at night myself for a long time now. Once it was out of choice, a preference for the quiet hours. More recently it was because I had no choice. Insomnia. One night, I was drinking my third cup of coffee — because when you can’t sleep, you might as well stop trying — and ignoring the deadline looming the next morning. Instead, I stared at the matrix on my phone, my own red eyes scanning a tiny sample of some 670,000 photographs under #nightshift. Most of them were people like me, awake when they didn’t want to be awake. And like me, they were looking at the screen in their hands, held up by the one in mine.

The photograph that Markisha McClenton posted on Instagram is a self-portrait, a close-up that is muted in dim light. She might be on her way to work. She might be coming home. Her workdays begin and end in the dark, and they are dark in between. She’s a lab technician in Jacksonville, Fla. Her specialty is blood. She has worked these dark hours since her son was 7. “Freedom,” she told me over the phone from her lab. That’s why she works these hours: The freedom to work at night and to raise her children during the days. To her, this is good fortune. She is smiling in this photo. But her eyes are midnight eyes, 3 a.m. eyes. Why take a photo at that hour? “People forget about us, the night shift,” she said. The <hl> #nightshift <hl>. That’s the hashtag she used. It’s how I found her. I’ve been working at night myself for a long time now. Once it was out of choice, a preference for the quiet hours. More recently it was because I had no choice. Insomnia. One night, I was drinking my third cup of coffee — because when you can’t sleep, you might as well stop trying — and ignoring the deadline looming the next morning. Instead, I stared at the matrix on my phone, my own red eyes scanning a tiny sample of some 670,000 photographs under #nightshift. Most of them were people like me, awake when they didn’t want to be awake. And like me, they were looking at the screen in their hands, held up by the one in mine.


Question: How many samples of photographs did the writer look at?

Answer: 670,000

The photograph that Markisha McClenton posted on Instagram is a self-portrait, a close-up that is muted in dim light. She might be on her way to work. She might be coming home. Her workdays begin and end in the dark, and they are dark in between. She’s a lab technician in Jacksonville, Fla. Her specialty is blood. She has worked these dark hours since her son was 7. “Freedom,” she told me over the phone from her lab. That’s why she works these hours: The freedom to work at night and to raise her children during the days. To her, this is good fortune. She is smiling in this photo. But her eyes are midnight eyes, 3 a.m. eyes. Why take a photo at that hour? “People forget about us, the night shift,” she said. The #nightshift. That’s the hashtag she used. It’s how I found her. I’ve been working at night myself for a long time now. Once it was out of choice, a preference for the quiet hours. More recently it was because I had no choice. Insomnia. One night, I was drinking my third cup of coffee — because when you can’t sleep, you might as well stop trying — and ignoring the deadline looming the next morning. <hl> Instead, I stared at the matrix on my phone, my own red eyes scanning a tiny sample of some 670,000 photographs under #nightshift. <hl> Most of them were people like me, awake when they didn’t want to be awake. And like me, they were looking at the screen in their hands, held up by the one in mine.

The photograph that Markisha McClenton posted on Instagram is a self-portrait, a close-up that is muted in dim light. She might be on her way to work. She might be coming home. Her workdays begin and end in the dark, and they are dark in between. She’s a lab technician in Jacksonville, Fla. Her specialty is blood. She has worked these dark hours since her son was 7. “Freedom,” she told me over the phone from her lab. That’s why she works these hours: The freedom to work at night and to raise her children during the days. To her, this is good fortune. She is smiling in this photo. But her eyes are midnight eyes, 3 a.m. eyes. Why take a photo at that hour? “People forget about us, the night shift,” she said. The #nightshift. That’s the hashtag she used. It’s how I found her. I’ve been working at night myself for a long time now. Once it was out of choice, a preference for the quiet hours. More recently it was because I had no choice. Insomnia. One night, I was drinking my third cup of coffee — because when you can’t sleep, you might as well stop trying — and ignoring the deadline looming the next morning. Instead, I stared at the matrix on my phone, my own red eyes scanning a tiny sample of some <hl> 670,000 <hl> photographs under #nightshift. Most of them were people like me, awake when they didn’t want to be awake. And like me, they were looking at the screen in their hands, held up by the one in mine.


Question: Who is Marcelo Aguirre?

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

Answer: a paramedic

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. <hl> Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. <hl> He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, <hl> a paramedic <hl> in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.


Question: Marcelo owns several guns, what does he shoot during the night shift?

Answer: his camera

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. <hl> He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera . <hl> He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is <hl> his camera <hl>. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is <hl> his camera <hl> .


Question: What is Marcelo studying to be?

Answer: a doctor

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. <hl> He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor . <hl> Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be <hl> a doctor <hl>. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be <hl> a doctor <hl> .


Question: What was the reporter asked to ignore when talking to Marcelo?

Answer: Please ignore the siren

“ Please ignore the siren ,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. <hl> “ Please ignore the siren ,” he said. <hl> “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “<hl> Please ignore the siren <hl>,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

“ <hl> Please ignore the siren <hl> ,” he said.


Question: Sometimes Marcelo does a double, what does that mean to him?

Answer: Twenty-four hours

Twenty-four hours if you take a double.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. <hl> Twenty-four hours if you take a double. <hl> After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. <hl> Twenty-four hours <hl> if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.


Question: Who is Marcelo Aguirre?

Answer: a paramedic

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. <hl> Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. <hl> He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, <hl> a paramedic <hl> in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.


Question: What is Marcelo studying to be?

Answer: a doctor

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. <hl> He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor . <hl> Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be <hl> a doctor <hl>. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be <hl> a doctor <hl> .


Question: Marcelo owns several guns, what does he shoot during the night shift?

Answer: his camera

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. <hl> He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera . <hl> He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is <hl> his camera <hl>. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is <hl> his camera <hl> .


Question: What was the reporter asked to ignore when talking to Marcelo?

Answer: Please ignore the siren

“ Please ignore the siren ,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. <hl> “ Please ignore the siren ,” he said. <hl> “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “<hl> Please ignore the siren <hl>,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

“ <hl> Please ignore the siren <hl> ,” he said.


Question: Sometimes Marcelo does a double, what does that mean to him?

Answer: Twenty-four hours

Twenty-four hours if you take a double.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. <hl> Twenty-four hours if you take a double. <hl> After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. <hl> Twenty-four hours <hl> if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.


Question: Who is Marcelo Aguirre?

Answer: a paramedic

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. <hl> Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. <hl> He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, <hl> a paramedic <hl> in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.


Question: Marcelo owns several guns, what does he shoot during the night shift?

Answer: his camera

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. <hl> He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera . <hl> He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is <hl> his camera <hl>. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is <hl> his camera <hl> .


Question: What is Marcelo studying to be?

Answer: a doctor

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. <hl> He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor . <hl> Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be <hl> a doctor <hl>. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be <hl> a doctor <hl> .


Question: Sometimes Marcelo does a double, what does that mean to him?

Answer: Twenty-four hours

Twenty-four hours if you take a double.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. <hl> Twenty-four hours if you take a double. <hl> After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. <hl> Twenty-four hours <hl> if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.


Question: What was the reporter asked to ignore when talking to Marcelo?

Answer: Please ignore the siren

“ Please ignore the siren ,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. <hl> “ Please ignore the siren ,” he said. <hl> “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “<hl> Please ignore the siren <hl>,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

“ <hl> Please ignore the siren <hl> ,” he said.


Question: Who is Marcelo Aguirre?

Answer: a paramedic

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. <hl> Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. <hl> He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, <hl> a paramedic <hl> in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.


Question: What is Marcelo studying to be?

Answer: a doctor

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. <hl> He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor . <hl> Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be <hl> a doctor <hl>. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be <hl> a doctor <hl> .


Question: What was the reporter asked to ignore when talking to Marcelo?

Answer: Please ignore the siren

“ Please ignore the siren ,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. <hl> “ Please ignore the siren ,” he said. <hl> “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “<hl> Please ignore the siren <hl>,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

“ <hl> Please ignore the siren <hl> ,” he said.


Question: Sometimes Marcelo does a double, what does that mean to him?

Answer: Twenty-four hours

Twenty-four hours if you take a double.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. <hl> Twenty-four hours if you take a double. <hl> After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. <hl> Twenty-four hours <hl> if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.


Question: Marcelo owns several guns, what does he shoot during the night shift?

Answer: his camera

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. <hl> He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera . <hl> He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is <hl> his camera <hl>. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is <hl> his camera <hl> .


Question: Who is Marcelo Aguirre?

Answer: a paramedic

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. <hl> Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. <hl> He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, <hl> a paramedic <hl> in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.


Question: What was the reporter asked to ignore when talking to Marcelo?

Answer: Please ignore the siren

“ Please ignore the siren ,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. <hl> “ Please ignore the siren ,” he said. <hl> “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “<hl> Please ignore the siren <hl>,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

“ <hl> Please ignore the siren <hl> ,” he said.


Question: Marcelo owns several guns, what does he shoot during the night shift?

Answer: his camera

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. <hl> He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera . <hl> He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is <hl> his camera <hl>. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is <hl> his camera <hl> .


Question: What is Marcelo studying to be?

Answer: a doctor

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. <hl> He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor . <hl> Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be <hl> a doctor <hl>. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. Twenty-four hours if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be <hl> a doctor <hl> .


Question: Sometimes Marcelo does a double, what does that mean to him?

Answer: Twenty-four hours

Twenty-four hours if you take a double.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. <hl> Twenty-four hours if you take a double. <hl> After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.

The #nightshift hashtag is especially well populated by the armed professions and the healing ones. Sometimes they are almost one and the same, as in the case of @armedmedic3153, a.k.a. Marcelo Aguirre, a paramedic in Newark and suburban New Jersey. He owns an AR-15, a 9-millimeter and a shotgun, but the only thing he shoots on the night shift is his camera. He works nights so he can study days; he wants to be a doctor. Nights are good preparation for that: You get more serious cases. You learn on the job. A 12-hour course each night you’re on. <hl> Twenty-four hours <hl> if you take a double. After a while, the adrenaline that juices you when you’re new — when you’re still keeping a tally of the lives you’ve saved — disappears. You just do the job. “High speed and low drag,” Aguirre told me when I called. “Please ignore the siren,” he said. “We’re going to a call.” A stroke. Nothing to get excited about. Coffee sustains him. He stays clean. Some guys, he said, use Provigil, but that’s prescribed. “For shift-work disorder,” he said.