Q: I don't see a point. That's the biggest problem with my life currently. I honestly, don't see a point. Am I working towards temporary monetary gain? Is my goal supposed to be buying my dream car(s)? Is my goal spiritual? I'm currently Catholic, but I've seen how spiritually those around me have changed. I've even wondered what's the point of heaven, if everything I want is there. I like life because of the ups and the downs. I enjoy learning and discovering new things. The idea of perfection seems like an impossible concept to me. Maybe even an unenjoyable one. Maybe my goal is to have a family. Being catholic naturally we gravitate towards larger families. But as a libertarian I don't see a lot of potential in the United States at it pertains to economic freedoms. I see the government encroaching more and more into our lives. Is this the type of country I want to raise a family in? I certainly don't want to be outside the United States (no offense towards anyone outside of the U.S). Maybe my goal is political. I've always wanted to run for office. Maybe governor one day. Would I be able to avoid the waves of bipartisanship, and actually do what I believe is the best for the people of my state. Or would I collapse under the political pressures and sign up for agreements I know in my heart and mind won't help the people. Only time will tell. I just don't see a point. I actually have many goals, but I struggle to see the overall point of accomplishing any of it. Especially seeing as anything I do will be lost in the ink-blots of history. According to the above context, answer the following question. How long would it likely take the author to achieve his/her goal if it were in fact to work to buy a dream car?

OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- a lifetime
- several years
- some few months

A: several years

input: OPTIONS:
- At the market.
- At the bakery.
- not enough information
- At the deli. Now, answer this question: My dream. I dreamt that is was living in France in the 1920. I was living my apartment, I glanced at my reflection, I was wearing a knee length pencil length green skirt, white silk blouse, green jacket to match, white wrist length gloves. On my head I wore a green felt hat, with a long green head pin, to keep the hat on my head. Green shoes and clutch to match. I was afraid, so I took a breath, opened the door, walked out and locked the door. I walked down the stairs, waved to Jean Paul the night concierge, he told me to be careful and have a goodnight, I told him I will see him later. I walked out the front door, turned left and walked down the alley to get to the boulevard. When I got half way through the alley, I heard footsteps. I began walking a little faster. Then a man called my name.. Ana, I turned and saw he had a gun. I screamed and began running. Before I got to the boulevard he shot me in the back, I fell knees first, then I tried to brace myself with my hands. But it was useless, I fell face to the ground, it was an excruciating burning pain. I began to cry, I could see my clutch not to far from me, the content from my clutch lipstick, compact and money scattered. Then I heard his footsteps, he stopped at my head, crunch down, he took his thumb and wiped my lipstick from my bottom lip. I asked him why, in a whisper, because it hurt to talk. He laughed, and said that I was a stupid girl, and that if he could not have me no one else should. He got up and walked away. He left me there dying, I felt that I could not breath and litterly jumped out of the dream. The weird part was that for several days after, I had that burning sensation in the same place I got shot. According to the above context, answer the following question. Where does Ana most like to buy food?
A:
output: not enough information

Problem:OPTIONS:
- To Mr. Benoit's house.
- not enough information
- To Amsterdam.
- To Phoenix.

The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit. "--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--" I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?" As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him. I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple. After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen. According to the above context, answer the following question. Where is the man headed next?
****
A:
To Mr. Benoit's house.