Question: The city was gray but the buildings contrasted with dirt red. The morning settled my nerves a bit more and before long the train pulled into the station. Boston had a slower feel, much slower than New York. The air was cool and peppered with moisture. I knew I was close to the ocean. Vision blurry, I wobbled out of the train depot and thought about the fact that I had never really done anything crazy in my life. The colors meant something here. Green was the color of plants but it was also the color of money. Plants were good but money was bad. I didn't know what green meant. Blue and red were clear though. Blue was the color of ocean and sky, both good things. Red was the color of Mars and it was manly but mars meant aliens and aliens were bad so red was bad. This is how I navigated. I followed the colors. I was lost in a daze of exhaustion and moved my feet slowly. They were dead and raw with pain and blisters, and I shuffled out into the city. My eyes darted from color to color, sign to sign, connection to connection. I floated like a ghost and thought about crying. There were few people out so I found a relative ease in that but my mind still jumped around reckless. I needed to find Kim. I saw a silent pay phone with a dangling phonebook and headed towards it until I remembered that phone books don't normally list cell phones. Kim wasn't the type of girl to list herself in the phonebook either. I had no leads but I knew I could go to a library and maybe find out her number if she had listed it on Facebook, so I kept walking. Stopping at benches, I would rest until I could muster more energy. What is probably true about the narrator? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - He is looking for a job - He wants to find Kim's phone number - not enough information - He loves walking around the town
He wants to find Kim's phone number
Is not necessarily worth two of anything, anywhere else. But it can certainly be a heck of a lot of fun. During my days as an inmate in Bridges House at the University of New Brunswick, I shared this space with about 99 other testosterone-addled 'young adults' whose charming tendency to get completely out of hand was barely held in check by the rod of authority of the Don and Resident Fellow. This is not to say that these two worthies weren't good at their jobs; more accurately, their task was more akin to herding cats -- fairly obtuse, barely socialized cats. Given the state of controlled chaos that existed, it wasn't unusual for little conflicts to arise from time to time. Being rather physically small and odd, I came in for a certain amount of abuse from someone called Scut, a large and obnoxious Newfie (hmmm, that's like saying that water is wet). I can't remember what it was he did to me, but it was serious enough that I decided to get my own back. It's been said that revenge is a dish best enjoyed cold. I think revenge is a dish best enjoyed in secret with no chance of counter-revenge to spoil the occasion. And so it was that I laid my plans against Scut. The occasion and place were set. My means of entry was secured. Now I needed material. For me, the only good fish is a live one. Even though I hale from NB, I really don't like free-swimming seafood. Considering the unimaginative cuisine of my youth, it's surprising that I eat anything at all. So with dead, smelly fish in mind, I persuaded my friend Shan to pick one up when he was down at the Saturday Farmer's Market. He returned with a four-pound shad, frozen solid. Shad has even more bones than other fish and you'll never see it featured on any cooking show (except maybe Iron Chef, where the disgusting and unusual seems to be standard). It took me all day to thaw out the fish in the lounge sink?#8364;?an activity which elicited howls of complaint from the guys trying to watch TV. Why did it take the narrator all day to thaw the fish in the sink? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - The refrigerator broke - It was frozen solid - not enough information - He was trying to hide it.
It was frozen solid
The bright Sunday morning sun illuminated the stained glass windows, diffusing multi-colored hues across the congregation. Attendance is up today, thought Greg. As the organist was nearing the end of the Prelude, he stepped up to the podium. "Please take your hymnals and turn to page 23, and let's stand and sing 'Holy, Holy, Holy.'" Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty! Early in the morning, our song shall rise to Thee... As Greg sang and conducted the 4/4 pattern, which he could do in his sleep, his mind began to wander. Shouldn't he feel guilty about what he was thinking last night while kissing Cynthia on the couch? His actions had been within the bounds of acceptable behavior. He had nothing to be ashamed of in that regard. But what about his thoughts? It wasn't what he did with Cynthia--it was what he wanted to do. He didn't want to dishonor her or his commitment to God. But his feelings had been only natural. God created humans and gave them sexual desire. Wasn't it okay to want to have sex, as long as you didn't actually do it? Then he remembered the passage from Matthew 5:28. But I say to you, that whosoever shall look on a woman to lust after her, hath already committed adultery with her in his heart. At the end of the hymn, Greg stepped back and Dr. Huff went to the podium and said a prayer. Then there were announcements, two more hymns, and a chorus. After the offering, it was time for the choir to sing their anthem. When Greg motioned to the choir to stand, Cynthia smiled at him from the Alto section. She was so incredibly beautiful. Standing there in her choir robe, she looked like a redheaded angel. If they could just get married, Greg could stop feeling guilty about his desire for her. Who thought that God created humans? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - Attendant - not enough information - Greg. - Dr. Huff.

Answer: Greg.