Problem:OPTIONS:
- gone
- not enough information
- holding plastic shopping bags
- watching the author

Read the following context and answer the question. Context: "They've got cameras everywhere, man. Not just in supermarkets and departments stores, they're also on your cell phones and your computers at home. And they never turn off. You think they do, but they don't. "They're always on, always watching you, sending them a continuous feed of your every move over satellite broadband connection. "They watch you fuck, they watch you shit, they watch when you pick your nose at the stop light or when you chew out the clerk at 7-11 over nothing or when you walk past the lady collecting for the women's shelter and you don't put anything in her jar. "They're even watching us right now," the hobo added and extended a grimy, gnarled digit to the small black orbs mounted at either end of the train car. There were some days when I loved taking public transportation, and other days when I didn't. On a good day, I liked to sit back and watch the show, study the rest of the passengers, read into their little ticks and mannerisms and body language, and try to guess at their back stories, giving them names and identities in my head. It was fun in a voyeuristic kind of way. And luckily, today was a good day. I watched the old Vietnamese woman with the cluster of plastic shopping bags gripped tightly in her hand like a cloud of tiny white bubbles. My eyes traced the deep lines grooving her face, and I wondered about the life that led her to this place. I watched the lonely businessman staring longingly across the aisle at the beautiful Mexican girl in the tight jeans standing with her back to him. He fidgeted with the gold band on his finger, and I couldn't tell if he was using it to remind himself of his commitment or if he was debating whether he should slyly slip it off and talk to her. Question: Immediately after the end of this text, the Vietnamese woman is: Answer:
****
A: gone

Read the following context and answer the question. Context: He picked me up at my house, and after getting back on the main road he turned up the volume on the radio. "Why do you even listen to that stuff?" I asked. It was schlock-rock, simple and unadorned wailing backed by incessantly grating guitars. "I don't really know." "You don't actually like it, do you?" I knew he didn't; I knew what he preferred. His apartment walls were lined with recordings of classical, even archaic music, European folk instrumentals. Maybe rock, once in a while, but he had had something amplified and pitch-altered on every time we'd been together lately. "I think we listen to pop music to punish ourselves," he said. "An aural bed of nails to compensate for our sins." "Those sins being...?" "I don't know... sometimes, don't you ever get so sick of everything you just want to cram your ears full of garbage to spite it all?" This was not normal second-date dialogue, but Phillip and I had known each other for a long time. "It's like you'd rather inflict pain," he said, "like you want to inflict pain on yourself, just for pure spite against... the stuff around us." "You'd choke on garbage to get back at a culture who would do it for you anyway?" "Yeah, kind of. Does that make sense?" "In a very cliched, pop-psychology sort of way, yes." I turned down the volume, then shut the radio off entirely. "Don't you ever want to hurt like that?" he asked. "It's why you read some thriller instead of a classic, it's why you watch TV instead of reading a book, it's why you watch a sitcom instead of PBS, it's why you watch Family Guy instead of the Simpsons." (I might have snorted at this point.) "Because you have to do the bad thing." Question: Where does Phillip live? Answer:
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- On the main road
- Near the narrator's house
- Near a European folk instrument shop.
not enough information

Problem: OPTIONS:
- A few seconds
- A few days
- not enough information
- A couple hours
Q: Read the following context and answer the question. Context: When asked to define ourselves we often use broad brushstrokes. Without thinking we consult our internal list of "things that make me, ME" and find ourselves recalling words like "creative, outgoing, photography, guitar" before we've even had a chance to fully process the question. But how much does this internal list define us? I believed that my internal list was the best representation of myself until I read a quote by Annie Dillard that states: "How we spend our days, is of course, how we spend our lives". This quote hit me like a punch in the gut, it's blatant truth so indisputable; how I spent my days, regardless of what I told myself about myself, was ultimately who I was. Or at the very least would be how I had spent my life. This is why, when completing my self portrait, I decided to focus on the everyday. Within my self portrait I wanted to present the viewer with a familiar yet abstract sense of reality through which we get to see amalgamated glimpses of the everyday acts that define me, rather than a linear narrative or a simple re-telling of 'a day in the life'. Thus combining to create a picture of: my daily life, through an abstracted version of 'the everyday'. To create a sense of 'the day' or linear progression of time I segmented my video with four still images of the sky in various stages of daylight (morning, midday, afternoon, evening) that match the lighting seen in each concurrent video segment. The everyday acts that define me were presented in a series of short video segments that include scenes of me catching the tram, recording music and riding my bike. To disrupt the sense of linear narrative the visual segments are bluntly edited together, with nothing linking the sequential shots and a quite abrupt ending. I also attempted to create an overall sense of confounded time and space by overlaying audio from certain video segments onto others. Long, singular focus, handheld shots were also used to enhance the sense of voyeuristic glimpses. Question: The self-portrait probably lasted Answer:
Answer:
A couple hours