*Question*
The sound of the clacking grew unbearable, so we turned the volume down. "Mute it." We muted it. "Turn it up; we might miss something." It's a silent movie. We won't miss anything. The sound of clacking gradually fills the room as my brother reluctantly turns up the volume. I can tell he's pressing hard on the button, jamming his thumb down in defiance or muted anger. He doesn't like for anyone to tell him what to do with the remote. But my grandmother wants the volume up, so we turn it up. We're all sitting along the edges of the tiny living room, staring at the fuzzy black-and-white images as they hazily walk across the television screen. I can hear a siren outside, barely discernable and then gone entirely. "Who's that?" my brother asks, evidently past his momentary and barely-noticeable indignation over the remote. "Uncle Arehl, and maybe his sister, Edna," my grandmother says, leaning in closer. "I think it's Edna," she says, in the tone of a doctor diagnosing a disease, as if the verdict was somehow relevant to someone who has only the vaguest idea who Arehl's sister is, or was. Uncle Arehl (I don't know precisely whose uncle he is, or for what the two initials of his name once stood) saunters slowly across a dry, patchy lawn, and the camera follows him. For some reason I'm more interested in the lawn--if it can be called that--than in the people on it. The sun in the movie is blazing, and everyone filmed looks only briefly at the camera before averting their faces once again to look at the stubbly grass. The camera pans once again and I can see an incredibly rutted path leading from the porch to the fence at the edge of the yard, broken pieces of concrete amid deep tire tracks fossilized in sun-baked mud. The fence is low, wire like a chain-link, but lower, with metal stakes holding it up instead of tubes. Who was sitting in the living room? - The narrator, his brother, and his grandmother. - Family members. - Three people who are related. - not enough information
**Answer**
The narrator, his brother, and his grandmother.

*Question*
The surgeon who had delivered my son by C-section an hour earlier stepping back from the table, and saying, "We're done, people. Good job, everyone!" That hour had been hell for everyone in the room, save only my little boy, sleeping peacefully in the warming crib, and his mother, who was just stirring from the general that had put her under about 55 minutes earlier. I had come within a few minutes, maybe seconds, of raising my boy as a single parent. Her OB/GYN had fought valliently to keep my family together, and won. Everyone who'd been awake knew exactly how close run a thing it had been. Mr. Murphy had been hanging around the whole time, and neither Doc nor mom was catching a whole lot of breaks that evening. But Doc only needed one, and he made full use thereof. One thing for all new dad's whose wives have had previous abdominal surgery. You never want to hear the muttered words, "Creative anatomy on the way out", when somebody has your wife's belly open. Those are about the worst words in the world, because they mean Doc's gotta put stuff to right in there, and he might not have what he'd like in order to get it done. But when he stands back, after the sponge count had to be done twice, and the tool count is right, and the belly is stapled closed, and everyone in the room is still breathing Just let it be known that the roving nurse has extra sponges for dad's nose. Oh yeah, and the neonatal nurses don't expect dad to change that first diaper. Maconium is nasty shit. Litterally. But I was happy to do it while talking to his groggy mom. Where was the C-section happening? - In the surgery room. - In the clinic. - not enough information - In the hospital.
**Answer**
In the surgery room.

*Question*
Thanks Richard for asking. Yes. I have something to tell. We have record rainfall during 24 hours in Lahore, breaking previous one day record by more than 60%. Our drainage system is pathetic. Other systems such as telephone, electricity, cable etc. are no better. Poor planning has further been aggravated by extremely mismanaged maintenance and operational bugs. This morning, when I was out for our fajr (morning prayers) in masjid, a neighbor told me that the pole laden with electricity meters was under fire. After that he buzzed off for complaint office. When I returned after prayers, I saw fire reaching cable part after meter; one meter had caught fire and other meters (including ours) was in danger of catching fire. It was still dark. I waited for someone to come out. No one appeared. I came inside and told my wife about and went again out to see if I could find someone to go about extinguishing fire. IT WAS DAM RISKY AS DIGGING WAS DONE BY TELEPHONE COMPANY AND RAINS HAD MADE A MESS ON OUR STREET. No one was seen. My wife came out; brought hose pipe. I managed to use it as water gun and there was some post-extinguishing sparking; fire was put out. I want to add here that hose pipe should only be used when someone knows how to send bursts of water so that electric current cannot build a circuit. Later in day we heard about the most stupid thing; people were inside their houses, watching flames from pole but not knowing what to do. THEY DID NOT EVEN COME OUT TO SHARE THE ACTIVITY. That has happened today. I am going to ask everyone about it one by one. Also, I am still looking for the guy who went to complaint office and was never seen thereafter this morning. That can happen to anybody. The narrator put out the fire: - while out for morning prayers - not enough information - before going to morning prayers - after he returned from morning prayers
**Answer**
after he returned from morning prayers