In the cosmic scheme of things, this was relatively minor. But very annoying. I had met a woman. Actually, at 19, she was still a girl. I lived in Pittsburgh. She lived in London, Ontario. She was, to put it bluntly, hotter than hell. On top of that, she's one of the sweetest, nicest people you were ever going to meet. Needless to say, I was quite smitten, and quickly arranged to spend a week in London with her. When I showed up, she was wearing very interesting pajamas. At least for a few minutes. Unfortunately, my two cats, who had never spent a night in my home without me being there, were, less than impressed when I didn't show up by 5 PM the day I left, despite having arranged for one of my parents to come over each day to feed them and make sure they had water, etc. Playing with them was optional, but neither would show themselves during that week. Nothing looked amiss on the first floor to Mom or Dad. The food was eaten, the water, apparently drunk, etc. When I got home and went upstairs I found something quite different. There was a trail of toilette paper strewn all over the hallway. My pillow was in the bedroom door and shredded. My alarm clock was on the floor. The power cord had been pulled from the wall and chewed through. There were severaluhmmm "presents" in the middle of the bed, where they had pulled the sheets back. Some of them were still wet. I figure that trip cost me somewhere in the neighborhood of $1k to repair the damage. So I did what any 24 year old would do when faced with that situation. I cleaned up, went to bed, and went back to London a few weeks later. But I cat proofed the house first. (Yes, they still lived with me for another 12 years before passing away.) Like I said, she was wearing very interesting pajamas when I got to London. At least for a few minutes. where did the man fly to? - London, England - London, Ontario - not enough information - Pittsburgh
London, Ontario

The drive up to Rick's place in the hills always made me sick. Just after he bought the house with his ill gotten gains from his band's over-hyped, over-marketed, and over-bought sophomore Disc, he drove me out to see it in his beautiful but nauseating '70 Datsun 240 Z. All the smog combined with the pinball effects of winding up the hill at teeth-numbing speeds had me puking for an hour after we got there. I took the last turn at the top of the hill and watched the rising sun crest over the black blocks of the city, her angel wings soiled and cheapened with the soot of 12 million get-away drivers. Rick's house came into view out of the fog, its large glass panes sparkling like the last clean surface of an oversized ashtray. I parked between a blue hatchback and Rick's favorite toy: a 350 horsepower Impreza he had smuggled here from Japan. All his more expensive rides were in the garage, collecting dust and gaining vintage resale value. I rang the bell. I waited and watched a couple of squirrels fight over a small treasure in the bushes. The door opened. "Dingo." "Hey, Luna." Her job as Rick's assistant was to take care of his place while he was out being a rock star. She made sure all his bills were paid, his animals were fed, and that the subsequent fallout from any parties she might have in his absence didn't leave any lasting damage. She was pretty by most standards, gorgeous by others. Short with a tight schoolgirl body and raven hair that teased her avian shoulders. But by whatever standard, her beauty was like a rare and exotic bird she kept caged behind the bars of her perfect teeth. As soon as she opened her mouth it flew away. Who was the narrator going to see at the house? - Rick'a assistant - Rick - not enough information - Luna
Rick

(Q).
This is a beauty myth that I have been wanting to bust for a while as I am surprised how many people actually believe it. I am quite vain so hate having visible grey hairs. Having naturally dark brown hair means that even a single grey hair is very noticeable. From the age of about 22 or 23 I discovered that I had about five grey hairs floating about. As soon as I could see them I'd pull them out. Then, a few months later when they were rearing their ugly heads again - pluck, out they'd come again! Up until I was about 27 or 28 I only had these 5 grey hairs, well that was all I could find anyway. Then from 28 onwards they have been inviting their friends and relatives to move in and I am slowly losing the plucking battle (side note: this increase in grey hairs at 28 was also the year that I got married...I wonder if their is any correlation between getting married and going grey??). Whenever I was having a conversation with someone about grey hairs and I'd mention that I pull mine out, they'd look at me horrified - 'you can't do that, seven more will grow back in its place' they would all warn me. Even my hairdresser was horrified that I plucked my grey hairs. One day when she was straightening my hair I could see a stray grey sticking up and it was driving me crazy. I asked her to pull it out and she refused saying that I'd end up with more if she pulled it out. I have never believed this old wives tale, mostly because for five years I kept plucking my greys yet they didn't increase in number. Plus it made no sense to me. Why would plucking greys cause more greys to grow when the same is not true for your coloured hair. Imagine if it were true - that would mean that the cure for baldness would be to pluck out your hair as each hair you pluck causes seven more to grow in its place - doesn't really make sense, does it? Or worse, each time you waxed your legs, seven hairs replaced each pulled one - what state would your legs be in now? Who is the hairdresser? - The narrator's mother - The narrator's boss - The narrator's best friend - not enough information
(A).
not enough information