Sheila split open and the air was filled with gumballs. Yellow gumballs. This was awful for Stan, just awful. He had loved Sheila for a long time, fought for her heart, believed in their love until finally she had come around. They were about to kiss for the first time and then this: yellow gumballs. Stan went to a group to try to accept that Sheila was gone. It was a group for people whose unrequited love had ended in some kind of surrealist moment. There is a group for everything in California. After several months of hard work on himself with the group, Stan was ready to open a shop and sell the thousands of yellow gumballs. He did this because he believed in capitalism, he loved capitalism. He loved the dynamic surge and crash of Amazon's stock price, he loved the great concrete malls spreading across America like blood staining through a handkerchief, he loved how everything could be tracked and mirrored in numbers. When he closed the store each night he would count the gumballs sold, and he would determine his gross revenue, his operating expenses, his operating margin; he would adjust his balance sheet and learn his debt to equity ratio; and after this exercise each night, Stan felt he understood himself and was at peace, and he could go home to his apartment and drink tea and sleep, without shooting himself or thinking about Sheila. On the night before the IPO of gumballs.com, Sheila came to Stan in a dream. She was standing in a kiddie pool; Stan and his brothers and sisters were running around splashing and screaming; she had managed to insert herself into a Super-8 home movie of Stan's family, shot in the late 70's. She looked terribly sad. "Sheila, where are you?" Stan said. "Why did you leave me, why did you become gumballs?" "The Ant King has me," Sheila said. "You must rescue me." What is probably true about Stan's gumball shop? - Stan ran it all by himself. - not enough information - Stan did not really want to open the shop. - Stan was feeling worse and worse working there all day.
Stan ran it all by himself.

(Question)
Another phone call at just after three. He answered on the third ring. "Is this Mr. Ray--uh. . ." The sound of shuffling papers. "Yes." The voice brightened perceptibly, strapped on a mask of friendliness. "My name is John Donovan. I'm an attorney representing the family of Donald Ackerman. I'm sorry to be calling so late." "It's not late for me." A laugh, intended to sound nervous or flustered. To Ray, it only sounded false. "That's right, of course. Only late for me. Do you mind if I tape record this conversation?" Smooth segue, meant to catch him off guard, startle him into acceptance. "Yes, I do mind. Can I help you?" You fucking bastard. John Donovan paused on his end of the line. Ray imagined him reaching for a legal pad upon which to take notes (just as he was supposed to imagine), though, of course, the tape recorder was still running. "Um, I was wondering if I could get some information?" "Sir, federal law prohibits me from acknowledging either to confirm or deny the presence of the individual of whom you have spoken or his participation in our program." Ray grinned. "Very well done," the lawyer said. "I guess that sets the parameters." "I guess it does." "Were you working two nights ago." "Sir, I am bound by Center policy and state law from discussing with you the work schedule of our employees at this facility unless you are an officer of the law or bearing a subpoena, in which case, I am only authorized to refer you to my supervisor." Ray grinned again. He was enjoying this. "What if I told you I have possession of a subpoena?" "Have you spoken to our attorney?" Ray countered. "In fact, son, yes I have. This afternoon." Ray grunted. Standard level of communication. "That's good, because I haven't. Which means, of course, that I'm not prepared to talk to you at all until advised on my statement by legal counsel." How many children does Donald Ackerman have? - Two - One - not enough information - Three
(Answer)
not enough information

Ques: "Sometimes," he said, squatting down by the fire and holding his hands to the open flame, "I think that I hear voices from the other side." "Voices, Sartas?" someone laughed. "And what do these voices say to you, lad?" "Were they women's voices?" asked another, his leering face looming up out of the darkness and into the sallow glow of the firelight. "Perhaps some fair-haired temptress willing to relieve you of the weighty burden of your virginity." More laughter, lecherous in tone, and quickly joined by a chorus of rough and lustful glee, which in the closeness of the dark seemed almost feral and far less than mere jest and honest teasing. "I can't speak as to whether they were male or female," said Sartas, trying hard to keep the tremor of embarrassment from his voice. "But it did sound at times like laughter. Of the sort that good men share about a fire and over a meal." He assayed a grin as he cast his gaze over his colleagues. "No doubt a fiction of the sun," offered Tavarius in a commiserating tone. He sat across from the young guard, idly poking at food on the beaten metal plate that was set at his feet. He skewered a square of meat with the tip of his long knife and lifted it to his lips, holding it poised before his mouth a moment before finally clamping square, yellowed teeth about it and pulling it free with a jerk. "It wasn't the sun," Sartas retorted petulantly. Tavarius shrugged, then wiped a trail of juice from his chin with the back of one hand and said, "Be careful, lad." He waggled the blade of his knife back and forth in the young man's direction, frowning with intense sagacity. "You'd be wise to consider spending less time out there in the heat of day, tramping back and forth as though you were guarding the King's own jewels. All that sweating and panting. And for what?" He snorted and shook his head. "Such devotion may well be admirable in some quarters, boy, but you'll curry no favor here with that sort of attitude." After the end of the story Travarious is - not enough information - not hungry - hungry - admiring Sartas' devotion
Ans:
not hungry