user: *Question*
The swinging doors slammed open. Cedric looked over from where he was sitting on a lab stool, chewed thumbnail between his teeth. His shoulder length blond hair was coated with the shine of someone who has only wet their hair down and not washed. His red streaked eyes were a sure sign of his having been recently woken up. He watched Dorian backing his way through the doors pulling a gurney behind him. "Dorian," Cedric said, then immediately fell silent as Dorian turned around. There was panic in Dorian's eyes and a waxy pallor beneath the stubble on his face that betrayed a lack of sleep. "Dorian," Cedric said again, that one word betraying multiple emotions: a layer of fear spread over top concern for his friend, concern for his own wellbeing, and simple anger at letting himself become involved in this. "Hook her up," Dorian said before moving to a lab stool of his own and sliding a keyboard across the table to rest in front of him, his fingers impatiently tapping the spacebar while he waited for the monitor to respond. With a hiccup of light the screen became active making Dorian's face even more hollow with its sickly glow. He was normally a handsome man with short brown hair that was always perfectly combed. Tonight, though, it was full of unruly licks and his white lab coat, which usually added to his presence as the overall leader of their research team, was cast by the computer's light into awkward shades of green and blue. A large coffee stain down the front appeared to still be wet. Cedric didn't respond. "I said hook her up," Dorian said. "Dorian," Cedric said for the third time. "I said hook her up!" Dorian screamed and Cedric jumped forward to the gurney. Coffee stain or no coffee stain, Dorian was a commanding presence. Question: where did Dorian and Cedric work: Options: - in an office   - in a classroom   - in a lab   - not enough information === The correct answer is
**Answer**
in a lab

*Question*
November always dragged around the station, but today was one dead Sunday. Not one car pulled off the interstate all morning. Nothing hit the drive but a thin steady rain, puddling slow rainbows in the oil. Me and Harnie just tilted back our chairs against the cigarette rack, watched the monster movie, and waited for the game to start. The big flying turtle was about set to barbeque downtown Tokyo when the drive bell rang, and up sluiced a car so damn gorgeous it hurt to look at it. A '37 Buick Roadmaster it was, painted a red so rich it was nearly black, that straight eight engine whispering like a lover while teardrops of rain rolled down the chrome grill. Out climbed this tall fellow, dressed like God's grandpa done up for a wedding or a funeral. His skin was brown as a buckwheat cake, with creases deep as drainage ditches. Took a mighty long stretch of sweat and toil, love and birth and dying, to carve a face like that. He flexed his shoulders, then rolled his neck till it cracked. He pulled a pack of Camel straights from inside his vest and flipped one out. "Got a light?" His voice was deep and warm, half gravel, half honey. I tossed him a pack of matches through the open door; he caught it left-handed, then flipped it open, folded over a match, and struck it with his thumb. "This the town with the dead fiddler?" he said after a long drag on the smoke. "You might say so," I said, ignoring the look Harnie gave me. Nobody talked about her; I wondered how this fellow had even heard about her. "Ain't a fiddle, though. It's a cello, like in the symphony." The stranger shrugged. "Close enough." "She ain't d-dead, neither," Harnie said. "M-more sleeping, like." He puffed out a wreath of smoke. Then another. "Let's go wake her up," he said. "You best not try, mister," I said. "She been sleeping for thirty some year." Question: What was probably stranger's race? Options: - Black   - Alien   - not enough information   - White === The correct answer is
**Answer**
Black

*Question*
We live our lives online, so naturally, online dating is becoming our primary source of meeting others. I have been on most dating sites and some are good, some not so much. Tinder remains on the top five dating sites out there, so I’m sharing my personal experience. THE TRUTH ABOUT TINDER Did you like me on Tinder? If you are a man in my geographical area, odds are you did. The first week I joined I received over 400 likes and nothing speaks desperation like that, does it? If I want to hook up and leave, there’s no better place to go. If you’re going to Tinder looking for a real connection, then sorry — you’ve lost your damn mind. Tinder was created with the hit and quit it hookup in mind and trust me no matter what he puts in his profile, that’s what he’s looking for. Crap, that’s what I was looking for let’s be honest. Here are some universal truths about Tinder and most online dating sites. If the picture looks too good to be true, it probably is. People lie. A large majority are going to be married pretending to be single. They have a handful of others on the hook while they’re talking to you. The usual way it goes on Tinder is you like someone’s picture and if they like you back, you’re a match. Then you can message each other and often you will get one or two messages and that’s it unless you come out strong on the sexting and I guarantee you get your man. Tinder is oozing with low attention spans. I can pretty much guarantee he is going to ask for pictures, and not of your face. Question: After joining Tinder, how does the author feel about the website? Options: - It's great for simple hookups, but nothing else because it's all deceitful information.   - It's a great place for a real connection.   - not enough information   - It's a great source of meeting others who are truthful. === The correct answer is
**Answer**


assistant: It's great for simple hookups, but nothing else because it's all deceitful information.