Manny had Bob Marley cranking on the stereo, his van was full of passengers, and the air conditioning was working after a long week of giving him trouble. The sun beat down on the wet-looking asphalt road that ran along the harbor, next to the concrete waterfront. It curved along in front of the brightly colored Dutch Colonial warehouses of Charlotte Amalie, which were now converted restaurants and jewel shops. Tourists in day-glo shirts and daubs of sunscreen rubbed over peeling skin crowded both sides of the waterfront road. Manny slowed somewhat, keeping an eye on them. On the sidewalk by the shops a tall black man stood by a food cart. The hand-painted wooden sign hanging from the cart's side had faded letters. The man wore a grand suit with tails, like an orchestra conductor, and a top hat perched on his shaved head. A cigar burned in his mouth. For a brief second he held Manny's attention. Then the food cart's owner stepped forward and the strangely dressed man disappeared. Manny looked at the other side of the road. A white girl with oval shaped sunglasses and pink leather pants stepped off the sidewalk into the road in front of his van. He slammed on the brakes, trying to dodge her, but the van couldn't respond that fast. Her ponytail flew up towards the windshield and her head struck the star-shaped hood ornament. She bounced along the asphalt. Manny weaved the van to a stop, with swearing from the passengers in the back. He opened the door and stepped out into the heat. Get up, stand up, the radio cried out, and that was what Manny hoped would happen. He hoped that she would at least just stir and be okay. But she just lay there. Question: What was the weather like? Options: - cloudy - rainy - not enough information - sunny === The correct answer is
sunny

(Question)
Yes, after my mother died I found out from my supposed half-sister that my dad was not my birth father. She was 19 yrs older than me and had been living in Colorado since I was young. I was born and raised in N.J. I did not see her she did not come to see us. I was grown, married, had children and was living in FL. when she showed up at my door with her husband. I was shocked since we never heard from her and I did not know she even knew where I lived. She stayed all of about 20 minutes, just long enough to very unpleasantly state that "my father is NOT your father and I am NOT your sister!" I always wondered why my mom hated me SO much, I found out that both my mom and "dad" were having affairs while married and both had children by someone else. I have never met my birth father (to my knowledge) only know his name, but understand that he was the father of my supposed half-brother (which would make him my only whole sibling out of seven siblings.) Obviously my oldest "half-brother", who is 20 yrs older than me, is not actually related to me either. I don't have for sure "proof" about my other siblings, but they all have strong resemblances to my "dad" and each other. Growing up people would comment about how much I looked like my mom but I also was told a lot that you would never know me and my other sisters were sisters, we used to laugh about it as kids because my sisters (all light haired/light skinned) and I (dark haired/deeper skin toned) were very different in appearance but we "knew" we were sisters. I also found out that my apparently ONLY whole brother, approximately 9 yrs older than me, did not even know his real fathers name even though he knew our "dad" was not his birth father. Question: At the end of this story the narrator probably Options: - not enough information - Isn't interested in talking to her half brother - Doesn't talk to her half brother - Feels interested in having a relationship with her brother === The correct answer is
(Answer)
Feels interested in having a relationship with her brother

Pirate gold. Coins, rings, ingots. Necklaces of emeralds and opals and sapphires. Chalices, bracelets, daggers inlaid with diamonds and lapis and ivory. Malone rolled over in the soft hotel bed. Not just gold but the things it would buy. A two-story house of brick and wrought iron. Greek columns in front and coaches parked in the drive. Built high on the center of Galveston Island, away from the deadly storms of the Gulf, away from the noise and stink of the port. White servants and negro slaves. Fair-haired women to sit at the piano in his parlor. Dark-skinned women to open their legs to him in the secrecy of the night... He sat up in a sweat. I will think no evil thoughts, he told himself. Outside, the sun rose over New Orleans. Horse-drawn carts creaked and rattled through the streets, and chickens complained about the light. The smell of the Mississippi, damp and sexual, floated through the open window. Malone got up and put a robe on over his nightshirt, despite the heat. He turned up the gas lamp over the desk, took out pen, ink and paper, and began to write. 'My dearest Becky...' * He smelled the French Market before he saw it, a mixture of decayed fruit, coffee, and leather. He crossed Decatur Street to avoid a side of beef hung over the sidewalk, swarming with flies. Voices shouted in a dozen different languages. All manner of decrepit wooden carts stood on the street, their contents passed from hand to hand until they disappeared under the yellow canvas awnings of the market. Beyond the levee Malone could see the tops of the masts of the tall ships that moved toward the Governor Nicholl's Street Wharf. Question: Malone 's letter probably took: Options: - More than 5 hours to finish - More than a day to finish - not enough information - three weeks to finish === The correct answer is
three weeks to finish