Question: Trying to drive up a very small street with cars parked on both sides so only one car at a time could get by, individual sees me already entered the roadway, got in the car backs out of his driveway, intending to for me to back all the way out. I was about half in. I wait thinking he will realize it was a not so smart action and he will pull back in to let me pass since forward is an easier safer plan. He doesn't do that we sit for anout 30 seconds and he is determined to stay. I was a fairly new driver in my first car. I get irritated and shut my motor off basically saying, buddy I entered the street first you were parked never looked before you hurriedly pulled forward. So he shuts off his motor and smiled good as to say stalemate. I'm thinking I have no place I have to be, I'll wait rather than trying to back up half the block without hitting somebodies car. We wait, he gets out of his car goes into his house, no cell phone back then it was the pager (beepers) era. I wasnt sure why he was going in, but probably nit good outcome for me. So I happened to have a small bottle of Keri Lotion (thick, oily lotion for extremely dry skin) in the cup holder. I jump out of my car run to his squirted the whole bottle all over his windshield ran back to my car and DID manage to back up rapidly without damaging my car or anyone! He ran out of the house and I saw by his facial expression was livid! I was thinking as I drove away I hope he doesn't try to use the wipers, that's going to make a really smear mess. He's not going anyplace for a while. Years later I regretted having done that, letting a stranger provoke me, and second felt guilty about the sheer gleeful triumph of seeing his face. I won! According to the above context, answer the following question. Where does the author live?
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- San Antonio, TX
- Alexandria, VA
- Phoenix, AZ
Answer: not enough information

input with options: 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." According to the above context, answer the following question. What was probably stranger's race?
OPTIONS:
- Black
- Alien
- not enough information
- White
output: Black

Q: A confession: I quietly love flying. This year, I've done 163,581 miles of it. I love that when you fly a lot, the airport social media staff say 'hello' on Twitter when you arrive and the cabin crew on your home route (or even on the Brisbane-Dubai non-stop route) recognise you from last time. I like getting great service, and see so many things about systems-thinking that work well in airlines, that I'm happy to forgive small indiscrepancies when they occur. All that said, flying strangles our planet as much as eating too much red meat, and for many, many reasons, I've wanted to stop flying quite so much, while not restricting the spread and growth of the ideas from our firm, NoTosh. I'm quite sure that nobody reading this blog really cares about how much I travel, but keeping an annual count on it has become a new year habit. When I started working at Channel 4, and then continuing when I created NoTosh, I wanted to keep track of what seemed like an interminable number of miles on the road and in the air. By 2012, 2013 and last year, I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever be able to get the number of miles down when they seemed to represent even more trips to the moon and back each and every year. When you run a company based in Edinburgh with a great team living in Melbourne, you could easily spend your life on a plane - one flying to Melbourne feels better than two or more flying to Edinburgh. Indeed, in 2012, 2013 and 2014 it felt like I really did spend my life on a plane, as I went to the moon and back in my annual travel, with anything up to seven trips a year to Australia. According to the above context, answer the following question. How does the author feel about their environmental impact?

OPTIONS:
- they don't think it makes a difference
- they don't think they can change it
- they want to reduce it
- not enough information

A:
they want to reduce it