Question: "Maybe we're being too harsh with the letter," said Janine. "Hon, as his parents we have a responsibility to his well being," said Bob. "I know but I just think he doesn't need this added pressure." "Jan, I'll be damned if I'm gonna support and house a drug addict." "I just think maybe he's going through tough times or something. He told me the other day he wanted to see a therapist." "Hmm." "Maybe there's something going on we don't understand. I mean didn't he seem a little paranoid to you today at lunch?" "Paranoia is a side-effect of the marijuana." "Well I still think we are being a little harsh, I mean, we can't just throw our son out on the street." "Babe, its our job to be harsh when it comes to this kind of stuff. It's for his own good. Either he chooses to keep living rent free in the condo without the pot or he chooses to ruin his life." "I know but don't you think we should let this little phase run its course? I mean, we're not entirely innocent ourselves. Eventually he's gonna want to stop smoking pot," "I don't know if he is, Jan. He's expressed to me several times that he has no interest in quitting." "He's said that to me too." "Well I think that's a pretty big red flag, don't you?" "Yes." "He needs to get his priorities in order and realize that drugs aren't gonna do him any good. If we have to force him to do that then that's what has to be done. I mean, tell me you haven't had any difficulty falling asleep at night with the notion that our sons are drug addicts." "Well at least Ben has a job and is paying his own rent." "I know but those people he hangs out with, Mack and Allison, those dopers that spend their time smoking weed, they...they're our age, and did you see their house, the stacks of books and newspapers and the marijuana pipes laying on the coffee table? It sickens me that there are people out there like that." Why are Bob and Jan mad at their son? - not enough information - He is hanging out with older people - He is not paying rent - He is doing drugs
Answer: He is doing drugs

Question: It was a good feast. Celenda's manservant had purchased two of the biggest and strongest oxen in Fena Kef and they now roasted over the hall's two huge braziers. The smell filled Celenda's nostrils. She closed her eyes and laid back on her silk divan, enjoying the sights and sounds. Her finger fiddled with a torn seam on the divan's armrest and her pleasure faded. She would have flogged her seamstress for allowing such a thing but the woman had fled a year ago. She could barely afford clothing acceptable to a woman of her position, though few could say for certain what that position was, so she simply wore less clothes overall. She raised her arms behind her back and let the warmth of the braziers flow over her body. Though the number shrank, many still enjoyed Celenda's frequent celebrations. Some laughed and shouted on one side, some coupled in the dark shadows and behind silk curtains. Most feasted and drank and everyone partook in the red lotus. Celenda beckoned a thin slave boy, one of her last few, and he came holding a bronze bowl. Dried red leaves covered the bottom of the bowl. 'Why is this bowl not full?' she shouted at the boy. He cringed but she could tell he was not really frightened. She could not afford to injure or kill him and everyone knew it. She slapped him, but not hard. If she hit too hard she would find herself with one less slave along with her diminishing supply of the red leaf. Instantly the thoughts of the crumbling villa, the torn furniture, and the diminishing coffers fled from her mind. Euphoria flowed in. She felt it in her fingers and toes. Celenda's party probably lasted: - not enough information - A few hours - ALL NIGHT - a few days
Answer: ALL NIGHT

Question: "If you can answer three questions," the dog said, "you can wear the magic shoes." Tommy looked up and down the deserted street. "Did you ... say something?" "That's right. Didn't you hear me?" It was a gruff voice, with just a trace of an English accent, and it was definitely coming out of the dog. "You're a dog." In fact it was a huge, fat bulldog, with big flaps of skin hanging off the sides of its face. From where it sat, on the front steps of the abandoned motel, it looked Tommy straight in the eye. "That's correct," the dog said. Tommy stared hard at the dusty windows of the motel office. "This is a trick, right? There's a TV camera back there and you want to make me look stupid." "No tricks, Tommy. Just three questions." "C'mon," Tommy said. He deepened his voice. "Sit up." The dog stared at him. "Roll over. Play dead." "Cut the crap, Tommy. Do you want the shoes or not?" "Let me see 'em." The dog shifted its weight to one side, revealing a battered pair of red Converse All-Stars. "Yuck," Tommy said. "Those are gross." "Maybe," the dog said, "but they're magic." "What are the questions?" "Which of the following presidents died in office? Lincoln, McKinley, F.D.R.?" "C'mon. They all did. That's the same dumb question they use when they're trying to sell you a free portrait on the telephone." "Which weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of lead?" "They both weigh a pound. This is stupid. Next you're going to ask me who's buried in Grant's Tomb." The dog narrowed its eyes. "Have you done this before?" "Ulysses S. Grant," Tommy said. "Lemme see the shoes." They were just his size and felt pretty good, even though they were scuffed up and the metal things were gone out of the side vents. "I don't feel any different," Tommy said. "You need the shoes to look for the treasure," the dog said. "What treasure?" "When you're wearing the shoes, you can open the doors of the motel rooms." Why did Tommy answer three questions? - So that the dog would give him the magic shoes. - So that the dog would show him the way to Grant's Tomb. - So that the dog would tell him the location of the treasure. - not enough information
Answer:
So that the dog would give him the magic shoes.