Problem: OPTIONS:
- delicacies that looked like crepes
- not enough information
- French fries
- hamburgers
Q: How long ago was it? It was a long time is all I know. For my birthday, my parents took me and my brother out of school on the day before my birthday and we took a train. (Funny interjection, my mom was caught on the wrong side of the station so she ran across the rails and was pulled up by my dad a couple minutes before the train came.) It was a night train, so we had our own room where my brother and I claimed the top as our territory. (Look at my younger self's squinty eyes They are staring into your soul) Anyways, it was morning by the time we arrived at where I would spend my birthday. Vienna, Austria. I quickly got off the train in excitement taking in the view of the station like it was first time I had seen anything. We exited the station and took the trolley to get to our hotel. For breakfast, we had delicious, regional delicacies (among other things). They looked similar to crepes, but all I know is that it had a German name that I can't remember. After we got situated in our hotel, we immediately headed off for the Mozart Plaza/Park. My family and I also visited other monuments that day: By the end of the day, our legs were worn out. We had rode so many trolleys and walked so much that I'm pretty sure that any longer and we would've collapsed on the spot. The bed never felt so good. The following days we went to Austrian Castle, Ice Cave, and more buildings and such. The trip overall made this birthday the most memorable and the best thus far. Bonus: We missed our night train back because of daylight saving hours. The trip back was definitely hectic, but adventurous. Question: what did he have for breakfast? === The answer to the above question is
Answer: delicacies that looked like crepes

Problem:OPTIONS:
- church
- not enough information
- Crossroads Detox
- H&R Block

"Hey, guy." "No, this is Ray." He smiled, leaned back in his chair. It was, of course, Pete. Pete was the night shift guy at Crossroads Detox across town. Ray called it the Jesus Shop because it was wholly supported by a contingent of local churches who saw addicts as a potential ministry. Apparently Jesus saved--not only from sin and hell, but also from Dark Eyed Jim Beam. Pete was a relatively innocuous born again fundie who volunteered his time two or three nights a week. When he was not saving the world, his Clark Kent was actually a steady CPA job with the local H&R Block. He'd been pulling shifts for about six months, knew nothing about drugs beyond that bad people used them to escape their problems and that they were tools of Satan, and he always needed Ray's advice about one thing or another. This arrangement was not problematic as Pete had long ago given up trying to convert him. Pete was also the only guy in the city who was, as Ray figured it, making less money than he was at such an hour. In return for Ray's magnanimity, Pete had done Ray's taxes for free last year. They had never actually met, though Ray had faxed him the tax forms and Pete had faxed back a photo of his two pre-teen daughters and his geriatric Lab. "What's the problem?" Ray asked. "I have a recalcitrant." That's what he called them, the drunk and definitely disorderly. Pete's vocabulary did not include the word shithead either in its singular or plural. "Pete, they're all like that. Alcohol is bad medicine. That's why places like ours are in business. To make them calcitrant." "I know that." Pete sounded a little annoyed. There was some commotion in the background, a knocking on doors. Question: Where does Pete work at night? === The answer to the above question is
****
A: Crossroads Detox

input: OPTIONS:
- Ten minutes
- An hour
- not enough information
- Six hours Now, answer this question: Paul Reynolds crisscrossed his sketchbook with furious strokes, filling the pages with images of the vengeance he would take on his former coworkers at Fear and Loading Games. He'd founded the company three years back and, just a few hours ago, his partners and erstwhile friends had fired him without cause or warning. He concentrated hard as his pen brought to life demonic figures from one of the best-selling comics he'd created, scythe wielding cyber-men called Myrmidons who tore into surprised computer programmers with fangs and claws. Elsewhere on the page, computers assembled themselves into 21st century Golems, rising up against traitorous CEO's and producers to crush them to bloody pulp as they cowered beneath their desks. Sitting at the bar in Senor Goldstein's Mexican Restaurant in San Jose, California, Paul's own artwork engaged him for the first time in months, maybe years. Under other circumstances, that would have made him happy. But today's circumstances allowed only two emotions: despair and a burning desire for revenge. Not wanting to succumb to the former, and not quite wanting to find a gun and go back to the office, he instead drew. He had turned to a fresh page and begun to sketch his most elaborate revenge-scheme yet when a woman walked into his line of vision. There were four or five other women in the restaurant already (most of them employees), but this one stood out. This one would've stood out anywhere. Her hair, cut short and spiky, was dyed a magenta so bright it nearly glowed. She wore a tight black t-shirt, baggy olive drab shorts that hung on shapely hips, and heavy black boots with two inch thick soles. She had a faded black messenger bag slung across her chest, the strap pressing between her breasts. If Paul had to guess, she wasn't wearing a bra. She definitely wasn't your average Silicon Valley techie on an early lunch break, and certainly not a restaurant employee. Question: How long was Paul probably in the restaurant for? === The answer to the above question is
A:
output:
An hour