input: OPTIONS:
- Humid pinelands
- Oranges
- Breakfast
- not enough information Now, answer this question: I woke at dawn when Digger climbed over me to get out of bed, and I woke again an hour later when Pa called, "Everyone up who wants breakfast!" Across the room, Little Bit was dressing in a T-shirt and jeans that had been mine a year before. Ma had put a stack of clean clothes at the foot of the bed for me. I dressed without caring what I put on. The only important items were my cowboy boots and my Roy Rogers belt with two holsters for cap guns, even though I only had one cap gun left, and its trigger was broken. When I used the toilet, I sat on the front edge of the seat, watching the water beneath me, and scooted off as soon as I was done. I had seen a cartoon in a book at Grandpa Abner's that showed a fish leaping out of a toilet bowl and a woman staring at it with big eyes. I thought that was funny and I knew it was impossible, but I didn't think there was any reason to take chances. Ma called, "Little Bit has to use the bathroom." I yelled, "I'm almost done." Ma called, "Are you off the toilet?" I yelled, "Yes!" Ma opened the door and brought Little Bit in. Squeezing toothpaste onto my toothbrush, I said, "I wasn't done yet." Ma said, "Your father's making breakfast in the restaurant." That meant we should hurry, so I slid the brush over my teeth while Little Bit sat next to the sink, and then I ran out of the house. Stepping into the sunlight was stepping into Florida. I didn't smell oranges -- Ma had explained that oranges grew further south -- but I smelled a humid pinelands that was not like the New Orleans suburb I had known. Question: What did the narrator smell? === The answer to the above question is
A:
output: Humid pinelands

Sondra Crench kicked a roach out of her way as she walked into her tiny apartment and sat down at her old laptop. It was after midnight. So, she figured her new friend, Jason, was already dead. And so were her hopes of landing a secretarial job in time to keep her apartment. Rent was due on Tuesday, and she had just enough money to pay it. But then she'd have no money for food or gas or anything else. Maybe it was time to go home for a while. Surely she could put up with her mother for a few weeks while looking for work. She opened her Favorites list and clicked on the link for The Orange Leader. Sondra had not been back to her home town in a long time, but she liked to keep up with what was going on there. Occasionally, she'd see one of her old classmates in a wedding announcement. Those people led real lives, and held real jobs. As a working musician, she lived in a completely different world. She had more in common with actresses than a secretaries. She checked the Classifieds. Nurses wanted. Nope. Part-time receptionist. Not enough pay. Then she saw a full-page ad announcing the upcoming Grand Opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn. Open Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, 6:00 PM to Midnight. For ages 12-20. Free soft drinks and popcorn. Live band. Five bucks to get in. Only twenty-five cents for arcade games. Sounded pretty cool for kids. She wished there had been such a place when she was growing up there. But what really caught her eye was the note about auditions for a house band. It would play two hours a night, and earn $2,000 per week. Divided by four band members... Sondra could actually live on that! Not very well--but she could get by. And besides, her band could do other gigs during the week to supplement it. Question: Why did Sondra want to go home for a few weeks? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- She did not like her apartment
- She was looking for work
- not enough information
- She did not like Jason

Answer: She was looking for work

"That's Glenn Miller," my father said. "But it can't be." He had the back of the hospital bed cranked upright, the lower lid of his left eye creeping up in a warning signal I'd learned to recognize as a child. My older sister Ann had settled deep in the recliner, and she glared at me too, blaming me for winding him up. The jam box sat on the rolling tray table and my father was working the remote as he talked, backing up my newly burned CD and letting it spin forward to play a few seconds of low fidelity trombone solo. "You know the tune, of course," he said. "'King Porter Stomp.'" Those childhood years of listening to him play Glenn Miller on the console phonograph were finally paying off. "He muffed the notes the same way on the Victor version." "So why can't it be Miller?" I asked. "He wouldn't have played with a rabble like that." The backup musicians teetered on the edge of chaos, playing with an abandon somewhere between Dixieland and bebop. "They sound drunk." My father had a major emotional investment in Miller. He and my mother had danced to the Miller band at Glen Island Casino on Long Island Sound in the summer of 1942, when they were both sixteen. That signature sound of clarinet and four saxes was forever tied up for him with first love and the early, idealistic months of the war. But there was a better reason why it couldn't have been Miller playing that solo. If the date on the original recording was correct, he was supposed to have died three days earlier. The date was in India ink on a piece of surgical tape, stuck to the top of a spool of recording wire. The handwritten numerals had the hooks and day-first order of Europe: 18/12/44. I'd won it on eBay the week before as part of a lot that included a wire recorder and a stack of 78s by French pop stars like Charles Trenent and Edith Piaf. Question: Who listened to the song before? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- Mother
- Father
- Charles Trenent
- not enough information

Answer:
Father