Read the following context and answer the question. Context: I was lost. As I sat parked at the old service station, I pulled out the maps and tried to do a little backtracking. It didn't take me long to figure out where I had made the wrong turn. I had tried following my memory instead of Luna's directions and wound up about eighty miles off course. My gas tank was pushing 'E' but fortunately the service station was open. When I stepped out of my Jeep, I could feel the soles of my boots melt on the asphalt. The heat coming off the cracked and pitted cement peeled off in waves that rolled out in every endless direction. The barren mountains in the distance looked unstable, like I was looking at them through a window pane slicked with olive oil. I slogged my way over to the gas pump and wrapped my shirt around the handle to keep my skin from burning against the desert-baked metal. The heat was so great I worried the fumes would ignite. A dirty round man stood in the shadowy doorway of the ramshackle service station and stared at me while he rubbed his hands inside an oily red rag. The oval name-patch stitched to his coveralls was loose at one end and curled like a leaf in the heat. His name was Jack. I topped off the tank and then walked over to him. "You work here?" I knew it was a stupid question the second it left my mouth. He and I were the only living things for fifty miles in any direction. Who the hell else would be working here? "Who the hell else would be working here?" he said. I shrugged my shoulders and pulled out my wallet. Jack wobbled inside behind a glass counter filled with everything from belt buckles to oil funnels. "That your momma's car?" he asked. It's impossible to tell what kind of psychological impact this heat would have on a man who lived out here alone, but I was sure it wasn't positive. Question: Who was wearing coveralls? Answer:
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- The narrator
- Luna
- Jack

Answer: Jack

Question: Read the following context and answer the question. Context: As someone diagnosed with bpd this question kinda tugged at my heart, for a few reasons. From my understanding, the core of the disorder is an unstable sense of self and an inherent shame or worthlessness. Before I was treated I thought I just needed someone else, the right person to come along to love me in just the right way, being mindful of trauma and never triggering my symptoms. I was living in a fantasy world. You cannot expect another person, a whole person with a sound mind and stable to sense of self to subject themselves to the circus act of our lives. We can't even manage it ourselves!! I have been in two long-term relationships, and dozens of short ones six months or less. One of the two began when I was very low and lasted a very toxic 3 years. I entered treatment during that relationship, which resulted in it's demise. I was much happier afterward. The second relationship began after I completed treatment. We have seperated twice during the past 2 and a half years, and our relationship is currently rocky as well. But who I am in the relationship has changed. I am no longer the girl who needs extra reassurance daily that he's coming home from work. I can breathe when he goes to hang out with his friends. I am not threatened by every waking thought of his not being about me. Instead I am the woman that validates him and myself in arguments, and I put respect over everything. Of course I lose my temper. Self improvement is a constant process. But, to avoid hurting anyone you love, you should definitely talk to a counselor if you are looking for another person to help you :) For family members/lovers/caregivers, it's stressful and often results in a lot of resentment in the relationship! Be safe! Question: How long has been the author's second relationship? Answer:
OPTIONS:
- 6 months.
- 1 year.
- not enough information
- 3 years.
Answer: 3 years.

Question: Read the following context and answer the question. Context: William White sat across from me, fidgeting nervously with an empty packet of artificial sweetener while his coffee went cold, ignored on the table in front of him. He rolled the torn yellow paper up like a tight little spliff, then unrolled it, smoothed it out flat, and then rolled it again. I was midway through my third cup of coffee with no intention of stopping soon. I was tired and edgy, irritated at William for dragging me out at this time of night, and getting even more irritated at his refusal to get to the point. 'Did you know Philip K. Dick had a twin sister?' I stared at him blankly. 'Her name was Jane. She died shortly after their birth. They were six weeks premature,' he continued, his eyes drifting off to the window to his right. I wasn't sure if he was looking at something through it or staring at his own reflection in it. 'Dick never got over Jane's death; her ghost haunted him throughout his life, and the idea of a phantom twin pops up throughout his work. Some have even speculated that Dick's inability to make peace with the loss of his sister contributed to his drug abuse, and by extension also his death at the relatively young age of 53.' He unrolled the sweetener packet, laid it on the table, placed both index fingers together in its center, and then spread them outward, smoothing the paper flat. I reached out and slammed my own hand on top of the packet, preventing him from fiddling with it anymore. 'Sorry,' he said sheepishly. I let out a sigh. 'Not that this isn't fascinating, but did you seriously call me out to Denny's at 3 am for this?' Question: What was White's occupation? Answer:
OPTIONS:
- A medical doctor
- not enough information
- A private detective
- A lawyer
Answer:
not enough information