Not exactly. I have no problem with divorce since, as others have stated, everyone has their reasons, however there was one person that I dated briefly but upon hearing the reason why he divorced I opted to end the relationship. I remember, we were having brunch and were talking about our past relationships and what happened. He brought up his marriage. I had previously known his divorce but, up until this point, not the reasoning. He told me, straight out, that he had cheated. Now, cheating in itself is one thing. I try not to judge since everyone has a past and I was never always innocent myself, however his attitude about it was what was very off-putting to me. He didn't seem remotely fazed by what he was telling me at all. There he was, spreading jelly on his toast as he told me about all the women he had cheated on his wife with. He told me about how it had started with a secretary (talk about cliches!) and then graduated to trysts in motels with girls off Tinder all with the same amount of casualness as someone describing how to make an omelette! And when he finally finished the tale of his cheating adventures I asked him if he regretted cheating on his wife with so many women, His answer? "Oh Definitely." Oh good! So at least he regrets his actions, right? Or he's at least a little sorry about it> Wrong. "One of the reasons I regret not divorcing her sooner. Had I divorced her sooner, I wouldn't have to have cheated on her so much. But it is what it is and, well, I was unhappy." I have no problems with divorced men. I can forgive a man who has cheated in his past. But a man who had no problems cheating so frivolously and, in all honestly, would likely do it again without problems? Nope, not for me. Question: What did the guy spread on his toast as he described his affairs? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- something dairy related
- something plain flavored
- not enough information
- something incredibly sweet

Answer: something incredibly sweet

Problem: OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- dead
- sick
- a murderer
Q: It's often difficult to remember how or why you became friends with someone, especially if you've been friends with a person forever. But because of the very specific set of circumstances, I remember exactly how Barend and I became friends. This, of course, was long before he became famous for inventing the easy-foldable map, and infamous for the series of bodies he'd decided to bury in his backyard. Barend and I became friends because he had one of the most attractive shadows I'd ever seen. I remember gazing out over the playground, watching a waning sun scatter its dying light over the monkey bars, the metal skeleton contrasting against the turquoise sky, when I noticed this kid coming toward me. He was one of those mostly invisible characters; faded jeans, dirty jacket, snot caked on his upper lip. I probably wouldn't have noticed him if not for his shadow. For some reason, his shadow immediately caught my eye. Now, I'm not one for noticing shadows in general, never really noticed a shadow before or since, but this kid had the most incredible shadow I'd ever seen. I cannot even put in words what that means. What specific set of properties make an ordinary shadow into an incredible one, I'm not sure anyone can, but his shadow was like a piece of art; I didn't necessarily understand it, but I liked it. And that's why this boring looking kid and I first became friends. Our kindergarten games were harmless and boring, but when puberty hit, Barend began to change. We were both expected to change, but I guess some kids just change more than others. Bared didn't want to kill at first. Like many overachievers in the death game, his first brush with the craft came about more or less accidentally. All the elements had been in place, with all the players and attributes coming together as if gathered by some evil force, but, even then, I really had to push the kid. Question: Immediately after the end of this text, Barend is: === The answer to the above question is
Answer: a murderer

input with options: Rain, the young man is thinking. Of course it would be raining. Not a heavy, cleansing rain that leaves the streets steaming and the neatly sculptured yards lush and fragrant. This is a gray drizzling rain. A rain that makes him think of places like England and Scotland as they appear in those disturbing late night films on cable, the ones in black and white that weren't particularly memorable when they were made and are even less so now. Still, it rains and the air is cool. All he has to shelter him is a think nylon jacket. The jacket is soaked. It feels both chilly and coarse against his skin. His hair hangs in flat and sodden wings, falling into his eyes. It's long in the back, almost to his shoulders, and he thinks that the cars that pass him on the street, the occupants of those cars, might look at him and see only that he is wet and not that he is dirty as well. Can they tell that his hair has been unwashed for days? That his clothes are the same ones he's worn for more than a week? It doesn't matter. He's invisible to them as soon as they pass, taking any assumptions they might make with them. They might just mistake him for one of those hoity-toity college kids, one of those clean limbed and beaming have's who has happened to find himself caught out without his umbrella. He makes a desultory attempt to straighten his shoulders, to lift his eyes from the buckled sidewalk. To look like he might have a purpose or a destination. It doesn't help. He has become the day. He has internalized the environment. He did that years ago, in fact. That's all I can do. Not his words, of course, but he understands them. He is intimately acquainted with his limitations. Question: The young man after the passage most likely: === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- Finds a bridge to sit under
- Returns to his large home
- Goes to class at the college
- not enough information
output:
Finds a bridge to sit under