Q: November always dragged around the station, but today was one dead Sunday. Not one car pulled off the interstate all morning. Nothing hit the drive but a thin steady rain, puddling slow rainbows in the oil. Me and Harnie just tilted back our chairs against the cigarette rack, watched the monster movie, and waited for the game to start. The big flying turtle was about set to barbeque downtown Tokyo when the drive bell rang, and up sluiced a car so damn gorgeous it hurt to look at it. A '37 Buick Roadmaster it was, painted a red so rich it was nearly black, that straight eight engine whispering like a lover while teardrops of rain rolled down the chrome grill. Out climbed this tall fellow, dressed like God's grandpa done up for a wedding or a funeral. His skin was brown as a buckwheat cake, with creases deep as drainage ditches. Took a mighty long stretch of sweat and toil, love and birth and dying, to carve a face like that. He flexed his shoulders, then rolled his neck till it cracked. He pulled a pack of Camel straights from inside his vest and flipped one out. "Got a light?" His voice was deep and warm, half gravel, half honey. I tossed him a pack of matches through the open door; he caught it left-handed, then flipped it open, folded over a match, and struck it with his thumb. "This the town with the dead fiddler?" he said after a long drag on the smoke. "You might say so," I said, ignoring the look Harnie gave me. Nobody talked about her; I wondered how this fellow had even heard about her. "Ain't a fiddle, though. It's a cello, like in the symphony." The stranger shrugged. "Close enough." "She ain't d-dead, neither," Harnie said. "M-more sleeping, like." He puffed out a wreath of smoke. Then another. "Let's go wake her up," he said. "You best not try, mister," I said. "She been sleeping for thirty some year." Question: Why was the narrator surprised at the stranger's question? Options: A. because he was smoking B. nobody talked about the person in question C. not enough information D. because it was raining === The correct answer is
A: B

Q: WASHINGTON In 2004, Desmond Meade, while serving a 15-year prison sentence for a drug offense in Florida, got a break. An appeals court returned his conviction to the original trial bench, allowing him to plead guilty to a lesser charge and get out of prison in three years, most of which he had already served. But his freedom came with a price, something that didn't quite register with him at the time: as part of his plea agreement with prosecutors, Meade agreed to give up his civil rights: the right to vote, to serve on a jury and to run for office. "At the time, when I first accepted the plea deal, I didn't understand the consequences," Meade says. Fourteen years and a pair of college and law degrees later, Meade, now 50, still can't vote; his application to regain his civil rights was rejected in 2011. The reason: a new Florida law that requires felons like him to wait for seven years before they could apply for rights restoration. Home to nearly a quarter of the nation's disenfranchised felons, Florida has become a battleground in a national debate over felony disenfranchisement laws. With lawmakers deeply divided over the issue, Meade says he wants the state's voters to change the system when they head to the polls on Nov. 6. He's promoting a ballot initiative that would amend the state's constitution, restoring the voting rights of all felons in Florida (except those convicted of murder and sexual assault) after they've completed the terms of their sentence. The measure enjoys broad voter support. A Quinnipiac University poll conducted in February showed that 67 percent of Floridians were in favor of restoring the voting rights of felons other than those convicted of murder and sexual assault. Another poll showed support at 71 percent. "We're going to change the system," Meade says confidently. "What we're doing is taking the power out of the hands of politicians and we're allowing the citizens of the state of Florida to decide whether or not folks should have a second chance, to be able to vote." Question: What is probably true about the lesser charge in Desmond Meade's case? Options: A. It was a misdemeanor. B. It was no more serious than a speeding ticket. C. not enough information D. It was still a felony. === The correct answer is
A: D

Q: Thank you kindly for A2A, Jill! October 25, 2017. I woke up feeling extremely empty. I had no courage to drag my feet out of bed and I thought: this is it this is going to be the day that I am completely done! I got out of bed knowing I am going to commit suicide.I don't know where, but I do know how. I didn't want to do it at home. I printed out my suicide notes for everybody and hid it somewhere in my room. As I got ready, I took one last glanced to my dad. I gathered all my medications shoved it in to my bag and went out outside caught the bus that goes to college. I had no plans on going into my classes; I sat onto the college bus stop contemplating if I am going to do it. I did it. I chugged down the whole bottle of my anti-depressant. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, I felt like I was about to faint; I checked my phone to see what time was it and I saw my daughter's face on my home screen. I said to myself, "How can you be so stupid?! You have a daughter!" Trying my best to be conscious I caught the bus that goes to the hospital and checked in as a crisis patient in need to see a psychiatrist right away. I told my psychiatrist I tried to kill myself, and he escorted me down to the emergency room and I instantly became a 5150 patient. After 8 hours in the emergency room having full blown panic attacks I got transferred to a psychiatric ward 35 miles away from home. And for 4 days that psychiatric ward became my home. Question: Who escorted the narrator down to the emergency room? Options: A. not enough information B. Psychiatrist C. no one D. nurse === The correct answer is
A: B