I had drunk too much, I confess, though we all had. Somehow, Tasha and I began to argue the worth of Solevgrad jazz, as inconsequential a topic as I can imagine. She had studied it in school, so she thought herself as an expert. I once had a neighbor who played it constantly, loudly, and badly, so I thought I knew it better. Malaquez tried to mediate, but I saw him as siding with Tasha. So, I think, did she. The subject shifted from music to Tasha's obsession with fame, undoubtedly by a leap that I made. She had no choice but to follow. (I do not remember any of this well, just now, nor do I care to. Those who are truly curious may look at the last act of "Captured Moments.") I remember suggesting, with characteristic tact, that she add Emil to her small list of major accomplishments. Malaquez glanced away, embarrassed. Tasha looked at me as if to say, "I will." She said, "I feel sorry for you, Nardo. I'll see Emil home." "Yes," I said, "Do that," and did not care what she did, or why. Emil asked, "You're all right?" I muttered something he must have interpreted as assent. They both walked up to Emil's home while I watched the scarlet moonlight ripple on distant waves. Disgusted with Tasha but more disgusted with myself, I finally realized she would not return that night and went into The Sleeping Flamingo to drink myself to sleep. She had not come home when I woke in mid-morning.

Question: "Why does the narrator state that she does "not remember any of this well"?"

Response: "He has bad memory"
OPTIONS:
- no
- yes

A: no

Joe's parents are farmers and they have a huge farm with cows, chickens, and ducks. Joe loves the farm and all the things he gets to play around and play on. One day, Joe's father told him not to get near a tractor that was sitting in the field. His father was worried that Joe would climb on it and hurt himself. Joe went out to the field and was feeding the horses and cows. When he was done, he saw the tractor his father told him not to get near. He knew that climbing on the tractor wouldn't hurt anything, so he did. He climbed on to the seat and sat there. Then, he pretended he was his father and pretended that he was driving the tractor. Joe's father saw him playing on the tractor and called for him. Joe heard his father calling for him and got off the tractor really fast. When he did that, he fell off and hurt his arm. Joe was in pain and his father came running to check on him and picked him up and sat him on a bench and asked him why he did that. Joe looked at his father and said, "I wanted to be like you." Joe's father gave him a hug and asked him if he wanted to ride with him on the tractor. Joe did and after he got a bandage on his arm, he and his father rode in the field on the tractor.

Question: "What did Joe say when his father asked why he climbed on the tractor?"

Response: "He lied that he never got on the tractor"
OPTIONS:
- no
- yes

A: no

In her storage room-turned-office, Jennifer Baum works under an expanding leak that is causing the ceiling to turn brown and crumble. Mold grows in the buckets positioned to catch the water. She shrugs it off. Outside her office she has taped up a clear plastic suit, and a sign that reads, "All employees must don protective gear before coming in." Such is life in limbo. Nearly a year after Sept. 11, the Legal Aid Society-the lawyers for New York's poor and homeless-remains, well, homeless. The nonprofit has been barred from returning to its 90 Church St. headquarters, across from the World Trade Center site, because of environmental concerns. Legal Aid has uncomfortable company. More than 11,500 New Yorkers continue to work out of temporary space, according to analysis by Manhattan-based real estate brokerage TenantWise.com Inc. and Crain's New York Business. That's 8% of the 137,000 workers who lost their offices or access to them when the Twin Towers collapsed. Legal Aid's 450 displaced attorneys and staffers have spent the past 12 months spread among previously unused spaces-some unused for good reason-in the nonprofit's other offices. It could be another year and a half before they return to their old desks. They have contended with difficult working conditions as demand for Legal Aid's services is on the rise because of Sept. 11 and the deteriorating economy. The civil division is spread among a few boroughs. Their papers and documents, some 20,000 boxes worth, are stuck in a storage facility in Linden, N.J. "I am counting the days till we can have all the parts back in one place," says Steven Banks, Legal Aid's associate attorney in chief. In the memories of the exiled workers, the old office has achieved mythical proportions. They say the wood paneling and rugs had the ability to cool emotions and lift spirits. The Legal Aid office on Montague Street in Brooklyn Heights, where 65 displaced workers have cobbled together space amid the faded and scratched walls, looks more like a bargain basement.

Question: "What happened to some of the displaced Legal aid staff?"

Response: "Resources have been spread out into previously unused places, some very bad shape"
OPTIONS:
- no
- yes

A:
yes