Problem: OPTIONS:
- she doesn't trust herself
- not enough information
- her husband is supportive
- she's upset and worried
Q: "Hon? You still awake?" Quiet. Jan pulled herself out of the bed and stood up, looking around the dark room for anything. She needed something, something that she could grab onto, and hold, hold until it hurt, hold until blood made racing red lines down her arms, until her hands were raw. She left the room and walked quietly into the now guest room that had been Rob's. Opening the closet, she found the teddy bear that Rob had once confided in and held it in her arms tight as she slumped down on the bed. A quiet sobbing rang through the house accompanied only by the chime of the grandfather clock in the living room every fifteen minutes. As Jan lay on the guest room bed she soon resorted to deep gasps, knowing that meager tears would never be forceful enough to express her worry to those that listened. "Just bring him home, bring him home, bring him home," she mumbled over and over, each time changing the tone slightly in a desperate attempt to make her pleading sound more real. She could hear the occasional snore of her husband and she hated him for it. What kind of person could find sleep at a time like this? Why wasn't he awake worrying? Why wasn't he with her? Her thoughts became dark like blood, evil little monsters eating at her sanity. If her son was crazy and not just a drug addict she could see how easy it was to fall over the line. "Please God, please God, please God, please Rob, Please Rob, Please Rob, Please Rob." Soon, a sleep came but it was peppered with demons. And as the sliver of sun peeked through the window, she held her false self-control tight and said little. Question: How does Jan feel immediately after the end of this story? === The answer to the above question is
Answer: she's upset and worried

Problem:OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- They are really messy tenants.
- They do have some moral values and stick to them.
- They will sleep with anyone they meet.

I've had two. Both happened in Newport RI when I was in the US Navy. First, I lived in a cottage that was in an old motel. It had a cottage in front where the landlady lived and there were ten little cottages in a half-moon configuration around it. Ours was a party place and we didn't have a phone. This was in the early 1970's. The landlady was in her 50's I'd guess. The only phone was a pay-phone outside her cottage and it was o party line with her phone. When we used it, she would try to listen, especially if we were talking to a girl. We could tell and sometimes we'd ask he to hang up, but other times we'd talk about sexy stuff and let her listen. We could hear her breathing heavy when we did. When we'd be parting, she'd come to the door wearing sexy clothes that were completely inappropriate and want to be invited in. Though we were a bunch of horny sailors, no one wanted any part of that. We never let her come in. I got married and moved into an apartment that was three rooms in a huge old house. They closed that Navy base and all of the sailors were transferred elsewhere. There were bumper-stickers that said, "Will the last sailor to leave, please turn out the lights." In those days, Newport was a small town that leached off of sailors. My landlord said that when my wife and I were completely out and it was completely clean, he'd refund my deposit. We left the apartment immaculately clean and he wouldn't refund my deposit. That was nearly 50 years ago and it still pisses me off. Question: What do we know about the sailors? === The answer to the above question is
****
A: They do have some moral values and stick to them.

input: OPTIONS:
- to have more lawyers
- to go to casino
- A place away from his normal commuting life
- not enough information Now, answer this question: I was driving on Highway 35 on my way home from work. Up in front of me was a giant billboard advertising yet another jeweler, in ten-foot letters and bright silver watches like massive alien machines. The traffic slowed and stopped on the ramp as it bottlenecked further into the city, and my head turned to examine the sign and the blocked view of the cityscape and land beyond. Past it was another billboard, with the name of a casino as its only text, filled with collaged images of money, plush rooms, and dancers. A quarter mile further brought me to an advertisement for business management solutions. Another few hundred yards and I was urged to try the new sandwich at the new sandwich place. The sun set and the signs stayed bright as automatic light switched on. The city grew dark and the hills beyond feebled out, existing only in our minds and finally not even there. All that remained were the well-lit and shiny reminders that lawyers were standing by to take my case to court, and that somebody's air conditioners would outlast somebody else's. I had an idea. I made the call the next day. It would put me back a good half grand, but it would be worth it. There would be no design meeting; I sent them the image and it was printed. A few weeks later it went up. Now on my commute, when I paused in the crush of metal bodies, I looked up and saw mountains by Maxfield Parrish, reaching up to the clouds in impossible cragginess, rivulets and gushing streams painted down their sides, with the sun striking vibrant oranges and reds into the shadows of the rocks. There were trees in copper-patina green and still pools quieter than the middle of winter but warm as the first day of summer. No doubt people thought it was the first part of a two-stage advertising gimmick, or a filler to be used when no one was renting space on the sign. But I was happy. Question: The driver desires === The answer to the above question is
A:
output:
A place away from his normal commuting life