The sweet taste of cold and wood smoke hung in the air. Marlin rode low in the saddle, his shoulders curled against the hungry wind. His hat was pulled down tight and his eyes didn't move as he passed the crude shacks at the edge of town. He tied his horse in front of the saloon, unwinding his long body as if a sudden movement might snap it. He turned down the collar of his greatcoat and checked to make sure his big Army Colt was loose in its holster. The saloon door was a single chunk of white pine, still oozing sap, and he had to put his shoulder to it to force it open. The long room inside was quiet, and not much warmer than the street. Clusters of people sat nursing coffee and drinks, talking quietly if they talked at all. Marlin spotted a few farmers the railroad had brought in from Europe: rounded hats, nervous eyes, skin as red as blood. At the far end of the room a half-dozen cowboys turned over cards with patient boredom. Marlin walked up to the bar. "Whiskey," he said, and when the drink came he tossed it straight down and felt it pull his lips into a grimace. He nodded for a refill. When he turned to face the room they were all watching him. "I'm looking for a man named Kraamer," Marlin said. "Anybody here know of him?" One of the cowboys turned casually and rang the spittoon with a stream of tobacco juice. Marlin knew the long, thin face from somewhere, the blond hair that fell limply to his shoulders. He smiled at Marlin and showed his brown-stained teeth. Marlin felt the lines in his own face, the gray in his hair, the chill in his bones. He was too old for this. He set a half dollar on the bar and started for the door. "Don't get in a huff," the bartender said. Marlin looked back. "Kraamer lives about a mile west of town. Follow the railroad and take the first trail south." The cowboy that range the spittoon was probably: Pick the correct answer from the following options: - not enough information - Known for being a rodeo star - Always getting into trouble - Always chewing tobacco
not enough information

I have been the brunt of cruelty from a doctor a number of times but I will relate one that has always stayed with me since I was a child. I was approximately 8 years and it happened to be summer. Baseball was a true love and my brothers and friends played daily. In the summer, all we wore were cut off jeans and nothing else. I had stepped on a rusty nail and it became infected. Time for a Tetanus shot! This was a typical occurrence for us during the summer. There was only one doctor within a one hundred square mile area and his name was Doctor Brandenbury. He was a very unpleasant, elderly man that my brothers and I did not care for since he was just a mean, old bastard. So I am shuffled off to his office and of course after hearing what had a occurred and examining my foot agreed I needed the Tetanus shot. I make a very innocent request as he is about to give me the shot. Since I knew the shot would stiffen my arm and essentially cause pain I would take it in my left arm so my throwing arm would not be affected. I tried to request this from the doctor but he did not wish to hear anything from me. He said "I don't give a fuck what arm you get it in." He grabbed me roughly by the right arm and used the needle like a dart and just slammed it into my arm. I had never had a problem with shots before but that REALLY hurt. I started crying. He instructed my mother "To get me the Hell out of his office." Needless to say my mother never took any of us to see this old, miserable bastard again. She found another doctor that actually treated us like we were human. who stuck the needle in the boy's arm? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - the boy himself - the boy's mom - not enough information - Doctor Brandenbury
Doctor Brandenbury

Television drama's whole point is to bring you through an often slow start, followed by a complex development to a point where there are two or three potential denouements before, "Cut!", it is the end of the episode and you will have to await the "right answer" in the following week's show. This post came to me at 10pm last night, on Day 16 of this challenge, after a day of holidaying in London and with my head (and feet) too weary to put finger to touchscreen. Mrs Mc and I had just watched another live instalment of Broadchurch, murder mystery extraordinaire, particularly since in the second series there is no actual fresh murder to investigate. The verdict is about to be given on the accused killer from Series 1 when the inevitable happens... Cue title music. This moment has even gained a moniker in British homes, based on the theme tune to the real masters of the four-times-a-week cliffhanger, London-based soap opera Eastenders. It's call a "ba...ba...ba...ba, ba, ba-ba-ba-ba" (YouTube will provide overseas readers with auditory explanation). Eastenders is such a master of writing in the perfect pace that every 28 minute episode ends with a tantalising screen freeze on the latest shocked face / smirking baddy / confused victim. For really big stories the cliffhanger can last significantly longer. This week, to celebrate the show's 30 year birthday, we will finally find out the answer to a question unanswered for the past 14 months: "Who killed Lucy Beale?" Now, most classrooms do not involve murder, incest, dodgy deals and danger, but "good teaching" encourages a type of pacing that totally ignores the ingredients that have millions in the edges of their seats every day: the good old cliffhanger. In fact, we see teachers giving away the punchline at the beginning: "Today we are learning this:..." Why was the author too weary to put finger to touchscreen when a post came to him at 10 pm last night? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - he just had worked 80 hours this week - he had just come back from a holiday in London - he had just worked 60 hours this week - not enough information
he had just come back from a holiday in London