input: OPTIONS:
- Over a year
- not enough information
- They met at the restaurant after being fixed up for their first date
- A couple of weeks Now, answer this question: It was their first official date. Greg Tenorly and Cynthia Blockerman had been through quite an ordeal together--being hunted by police for the murder of her abusive husband while they ran from the real killer. But all that was behind them now. All charges against them had been dropped, and Cynthia's husband had been buried. And the rumors would have died down eventually if they had gone their separate ways. They could feel the stares as they walked to their table. Greg had requested the most private booth, way in the back. Coreyville Pasta House was the oldest Italian restaurant in town. And still the best. Mama Castilla had run the place for over thirty years. She had taken over for her grandfather in 1973. A sign on the wall said so. Cynthia ordered the Fettuccini Alfredo. Greg went with his favorite, the Chicken Parmesan. Both ordered iced tea and salad. The bread and olive oil with roasted garlic and pepper came with every meal. Greg could not resist great bread. And this was the best. He tore off a chunk as soon as the waitress delivered it. Cynthia would wait for the salad. "So we're finally on a real date," said Greg. "Yeah. So how does it feel?" "Kinda weird and scary and...wonderful." Cynthia smiled and Greg momentarily forgot all about the amazing aroma in the restaurant. All he wanted to do was kiss her. But that would have to wait. So, his hunger came rushing back. Cynthia's mood turned serious. "I don't want to spoil our date, but I've got to tell you something." Greg wondered if he had done something wrong. He could fix it--whatever it was. "I've asked Mom to move in with me." "Why? I thought she was happy living in Marshall." "She was." "What do you mean? What happened?" "The other night a friend of hers was murdered. And the woman lived on her street. They killed her nurse too." According to the above context, answer the following question. How long did Greg and Cynthia probably know each other?
A:
output: Over a year

input: OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- On the main road
- Near the narrator's house
- Near a European folk instrument shop. Now, answer this question: He picked me up at my house, and after getting back on the main road he turned up the volume on the radio. "Why do you even listen to that stuff?" I asked. It was schlock-rock, simple and unadorned wailing backed by incessantly grating guitars. "I don't really know." "You don't actually like it, do you?" I knew he didn't; I knew what he preferred. His apartment walls were lined with recordings of classical, even archaic music, European folk instrumentals. Maybe rock, once in a while, but he had had something amplified and pitch-altered on every time we'd been together lately. "I think we listen to pop music to punish ourselves," he said. "An aural bed of nails to compensate for our sins." "Those sins being...?" "I don't know... sometimes, don't you ever get so sick of everything you just want to cram your ears full of garbage to spite it all?" This was not normal second-date dialogue, but Phillip and I had known each other for a long time. "It's like you'd rather inflict pain," he said, "like you want to inflict pain on yourself, just for pure spite against... the stuff around us." "You'd choke on garbage to get back at a culture who would do it for you anyway?" "Yeah, kind of. Does that make sense?" "In a very cliched, pop-psychology sort of way, yes." I turned down the volume, then shut the radio off entirely. "Don't you ever want to hurt like that?" he asked. "It's why you read some thriller instead of a classic, it's why you watch TV instead of reading a book, it's why you watch a sitcom instead of PBS, it's why you watch Family Guy instead of the Simpsons." (I might have snorted at this point.) "Because you have to do the bad thing." According to the above context, answer the following question. Where does Phillip live?
A:
output: not enough information

input: OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- about 30 minutes
- about five hours
- about 10 seconds Now, answer this question: Not really that huge a deal, but we laughed about it for a while. My friends and I went to see the Gin Blossoms in 1993 at a small venue in Chicago. We were having some beers and enjoying the opening band (they were okay, but not memorable) when this guy came and stood right in front of my roommate. I mean, the floor was filling up, sure, but we'd landed a decent spot right in the middle and he came and stood right in front of her when there was plenty of room off to the side a bit. My roommate and our friend and I looked at each other and were like, "How rude!" Frankly, I was surprised my roommate didn't do or say anything - holding her tongue wasn't her forte. I half expected her to spank his bottom - I'd seen her do it before to get some guy's attention, and this guy was pretty cute. But when that same song came to an end, the guy turned around and actually apologized to all of us. He held up his camera and said he wanted a really good shot of the band as they were friends of his. He actually went and bought each of us a beer, so it totally worked out well. We thanked him and he took off. The only excuse I have for us is that we were in college and not glued to MTV or entertainment magazines, and really, only Hey Jealousy had hit the airwaves when we went to the concert. But sure enough, when the Gin Blossoms took the stage, Robin Wilson gave a shout out to those three girls he'd blocked the stage for earlier and hoped we'd enjoyed our beers. Like I said, it's pretty tame, but I thought he handled it with class, so it's always made me remember their music fondly. According to the above context, answer the following question. How long was it that the roommates realized that the apologizer who blocked their view was the man on the stage?
A:
output:
about five hours