Problem: OPTIONS:
- Black
- not enough information
- Blonde
- Brown
Q: Yes, sometimes you just meet people and you know straight away that they are not trustworthy. Before my relationship there were certain boys in my life that I would meet and I would be able to tell straight away whether or not they were going to be a decent partner. I find that I am not attracted to the pretty boy, who loves himself, I go for the more reserved and shy people that I know will treat me right. One time there was this guy back at school who I knew was all over the girls and that didn't want a relationship. He was rude to the teachers and a bit of a bad boy and all the girls swooned over him. I on the other hand was not, at one point he managed to get my number and was texting me. We spoke for a bit but once he started asking me for pictures of myself I stopped the contact, I knew he wasn't to be trusted from the beginning and decided he wasn't right for me. Then it was quite funny how one day we had a class where the rooms were next to each other and in between was a printer that both classes shared. I went to the room to print my work, and he was there waiting also. He asked me for a hug and just raised an eyebrow, then I saw my work had printed so I lent over to grab it and he thought I was going in for the hug. So he shut his eyes and held out his arms only to open them to see me walking off with my paper. His friend also saw what happened and laughed, I think he was a bit embarrassed. But we were young back then and he has found someone now and seems very happy, as am I. Question: What was her hair color? === The answer to the above question is
Answer: not enough information

Problem:OPTIONS:
- they wanted some coffee
- someone in the office has the information they need, or is a suspect
- they knew the narrator
- not enough information

Overnight the clouds had rolled in and the summer was dead. I sat at my office window and drank coffee, looking out on a dirty brown Saturday that smelled like rain. Somebody knocked at the door and I swiveled around to see Pete McGreggor from down the hall. "Busy?" he asked. I shook my head and he came in, closing the door behind him. He poured a cup of coffee and sat down across from me. "Big shakeup last night," he said. "I just got a call to defend one of the Preacher's errand boys." "So they finally got to him," I said, remembering the furor that had raged in the newspapers a few months before. The law had never been able to break up the Preacher's drug operation, even though it was notorious as the biggest in Texas. "How'd they do it?" "It's very hush-hush," he said, steam from his coffee making his hair seem to ripple. "They squelched the story at the papers, hoping to pull in a couple more fish, I guess. But what I gather is that the thing was pulled off from the inside, from somebody high up in the organization. But nobody knows exactly who it was that sold out." "It'll all come clean at the trial, I suppose." He nodded. "Sooner than that, I expect. The DA told me confidentially that they'll have everything they need by five o'clock tonight. You'll see it all on the evening news." A sharp rapping came at the door and Pete stood up. "You've got business. I'll leave you to it." "It's probably bill collectors," I said. "I'll yell if they get rough." He opened the door and pushed past the two policemen that were waiting outside. They were both in uniform, but I only knew one of them. That was Brady, the tall, curly headed one that looked like an Irish middleweight. His partner was dark and nondescript, sporting a Police Academy moustache. Question: Why did the police come? === The answer to the above question is
****
A: someone in the office has the information they need, or is a suspect

input: OPTIONS:
- Three times
- Four or more times
- not enough information
- Two times Now, answer this question: OLD TOWN - the heart and soul of Key West and the place most visitors spend their time - is only one mile by two. The Crew's house by the cemetery was less than half a mile from where they'd last seen Winston. Walking, it might've taken ten minutes to get there, but on Chloe's Vespa it was a hair-raising three-minute ride away. When they got there, Paul saw no sign of either Winston or Lily, so he assumed they were still inside the rundown shack that passed for a gallery. They parked a block away and approached at a brisk walk, Paul almost jogging to keep up with Chloe's excited strides. Winston was Chloe's mentor in what they referred to as "The Life," this being a euphemism for a whole range of different activities, groups and lifestyles that fell under the general category of living underground and off the information grid. Paul, after defrauding his former partners and then running afoul of the law in a very public way, had been living The Life for almost a year and a half now. Chloe, as near as he could tell, had been doing it for almost a decade. Winston had started in the late '60s as a 16-year-old member of the notorious Weather Underground. He not only led his own Crew, he was also in contact with dozens, maybe scores of other such groups all over the world, including Chloe and Paul's little Crew of four. On top of all that, he'd once taken a couple bullets while helping Paul out, so, like Chloe, Paul had a soft spot in his heart for the old man. They hadn't seen him since that bloody night, but Chloe had been in communication with him off and on over the last sixteen months. Winston and his Crew were old school and didn't trust much in the way of electronic communications. Mostly it had been encoded, hand-delivered letters and arcane classified ads in various newspapers. Chloe found this particular breed of paranoia on Winston's part annoying, but Paul admired it. Question: How many times did Winston get shot? === The answer to the above question is
A:
output:
not enough information