input: OPTIONS:
- Nick's roommate
- Nick's parents
- A guy Nick had ripped off
- not enough information Now, answer this question: Read the following context and answer the question. Context: I went over to a guy's house to see a movie that he had acted in. It was our first date. He starts the movie and I settle back to watch. I was in film school and the guy, Nick, had told me he wanted my "professional" opinion. We're five minutes into the movie when Nick reaches for the remote and says, "Let's fast forward to my part." I reply that, in order to adequately critique the movie, I should see it from the beginning. Nick assures me that his scene is self-contained and needs no context. A fight scene plays. Nick pauses and asks, "What did you think?" I look confused and Nick says, "Did you miss me? Let's play it again." I watch the scene again, but still can't make out Nick. Nick rewinds, plays and pauses. "There I am," he says, gazing fondly at the screen. Except the screen was gray. No actors. No landscape. Nothing, but gray snow. "What do you think," he asked, his eyes never leaving the empty screen. At that point, I realized Nick was crazy. "That's great!," I said. "But look at the time. Time sure flies when you're having fun." Nick was still staring at the screen with a strange little smile. I stood up. Nick stood up, now not smiling. "You're not going anywhere," Nick said. It's funny how fear works. I've found that in times of danger, adrenaline supersedes fear. I managed to trick Nick, hide from Nick and finally to escape after more than an hour of suspense. Turns out it wasn't even Nick's place. He had taken me to the house of someone he had ripped off in a drug deal. I am very wary now of going to a guy's home unless I know him extremely well. Question: Who owned the apartment the author had been taken to? Answer:
A:
output: A guy Nick had ripped off

Read the following context and answer the question. Context: He had apparently spaced out for a second or two. When he came to, a large, annoyed woman was leaning in toward him. "Mister? Mister, are you even listening to me?" He looked at the receding rows of fluorescent lights on the struts of the cavernous ceiling, the gleaming linoleum floors, the pallets of sale-priced plastic coolers and Special K and motor oil, and then he looked at the rack of merchandise at his back and understood that he was in a Wal-Mart, behind the returns counter. He heard his own voice saying, as if by reflex, "Do you have your receipt?" * At the first opportunity, he locked himself in a bathroom stall and dug out his wallet. His driver's license showed the right name, birthdate, and photo, but it had been issued by the State of North Carolina, and it listed an address he'd never heard of. He scrubbed his face at the sink. It was him in the mirror, a tanned and healthy 56, hair mostly gray but still all there. He felt groggy, as if he'd woken prematurely. It was only the numbness, he thought, that kept the panic at bay. If he didn't push, he found he knew the answers to some questions. He was due to clock out in an hour. When he left the parking lot he would go under the highway, turn left, and merge. * He found his way to a battered white Toyota pickup in the employee section. The key in his pocket started the engine. He forced himself not to think too hard as he drove, taking the turns that seemed to have a certain inevitability. He wound up on a dirt road near someplace called Pittsboro, in front of a small brick house surrounded by high yellow grass, pines, and live oaks. Question: After he arrives at the small brick house: Answer:

OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- he reaches under the driver seat, finds a gun and shoots himself in the head.
- he finds the other key on his key ring fits the lock to enter the front door.
- he backs out immediately and starts a drive to Florida.

Answer: he finds the other key on his key ring fits the lock to enter the front door.

Read the following context and answer the question. Context: He had a 12" Sony black-and-white, tuned to MTV, sitting on a chair at the end of the bed. He could barely hear it over the fan in the window. He sat in the middle of the bed because of the sag, drumming along absently to Steve Winwood's "Higher Love." The sticks were Regal Tip 5Bs. They were thinner than 2Bs--marching band sticks--but almost as long. Over the years Stan had moved farther out over the ends. Now the butts of the sticks fit into the heels of his palms, about an inch up from the wrist. He flipped the right stick away when the phone rang. "Stan, dude! You want to work tomorrow?" "Yeah, probably. What have you got, Darryl? You don't sound right." "Does the name Keven Stacey mean anything to you?" "Wait a minute." Stan switched the phone to his other ear. "Did you say Keven Stacey? As in Foolsgold, Kevin Stacey? She's going to record at CSR?" "You heard me." Stan could see Darryl sitting in the control room, feet up on the console, wearing double-knit slacks and a T-shirt, sweat coming up on his balding forehead. "This is some kind of bullshit, right? She's coming in for a jingle or a PSA." "No bullshit, Stanley. She's cutting a track for a solo album she's going to pitch to Warner's. Not a demo, but a real, honest-to-Christ track. Probably a single. Now if you're not interested, there's plenty of other drummers in LA..." "I'm interested. I just don't understand why she wants to fuck with a rinky-dink studio like yours. No offense." "Don't harsh me, bud. She's hot. She's got a song and she wants to put it in the can. Everybody else is booked. You try to get into Record One or Sunset Sound. Not for six months you won't get in. Even if you're Keven Stacey. You listening, Stan?" He heard Darryl hitting the phone on the edge of the console. "That's the Big Time, dude. Knocking on your door." Question: Who was listening to the TV Answer:
OPTIONS:
- Kevin Stacy
- Steve Winwood
- Stan
- not enough information

Answer:
Stan