It's often difficult to remember how or why you became friends with someone, especially if you've been friends with a person forever. But because of the very specific set of circumstances, I remember exactly how Barend and I became friends. This, of course, was long before he became famous for inventing the easy-foldable map, and infamous for the series of bodies he'd decided to bury in his backyard. Barend and I became friends because he had one of the most attractive shadows I'd ever seen. I remember gazing out over the playground, watching a waning sun scatter its dying light over the monkey bars, the metal skeleton contrasting against the turquoise sky, when I noticed this kid coming toward me. He was one of those mostly invisible characters; faded jeans, dirty jacket, snot caked on his upper lip. I probably wouldn't have noticed him if not for his shadow. For some reason, his shadow immediately caught my eye. Now, I'm not one for noticing shadows in general, never really noticed a shadow before or since, but this kid had the most incredible shadow I'd ever seen. I cannot even put in words what that means. What specific set of properties make an ordinary shadow into an incredible one, I'm not sure anyone can, but his shadow was like a piece of art; I didn't necessarily understand it, but I liked it. And that's why this boring looking kid and I first became friends. Our kindergarten games were harmless and boring, but when puberty hit, Barend began to change. We were both expected to change, but I guess some kids just change more than others. Bared didn't want to kill at first. Like many overachievers in the death game, his first brush with the craft came about more or less accidentally. All the elements had been in place, with all the players and attributes coming together as if gathered by some evil force, but, even then, I really had to push the kid. How long did the narrator gazed at the sun? - For 11 minutes - not enough information - For 12 minutes - For days
not enough information
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William White sat across from me, fidgeting nervously with an empty packet of artificial sweetener while his coffee went cold, ignored on the table in front of him. He rolled the torn yellow paper up like a tight little spliff, then unrolled it, smoothed it out flat, and then rolled it again. I was midway through my third cup of coffee with no intention of stopping soon. I was tired and edgy, irritated at William for dragging me out at this time of night, and getting even more irritated at his refusal to get to the point. 'Did you know Philip K. Dick had a twin sister?' I stared at him blankly. 'Her name was Jane. She died shortly after their birth. They were six weeks premature,' he continued, his eyes drifting off to the window to his right. I wasn't sure if he was looking at something through it or staring at his own reflection in it. 'Dick never got over Jane's death; her ghost haunted him throughout his life, and the idea of a phantom twin pops up throughout his work. Some have even speculated that Dick's inability to make peace with the loss of his sister contributed to his drug abuse, and by extension also his death at the relatively young age of 53.' He unrolled the sweetener packet, laid it on the table, placed both index fingers together in its center, and then spread them outward, smoothing the paper flat. I reached out and slammed my own hand on top of the packet, preventing him from fiddling with it anymore. 'Sorry,' he said sheepishly. I let out a sigh. 'Not that this isn't fascinating, but did you seriously call me out to Denny's at 3 am for this?' What was the relationship between Dick and Jane? - she helped him with his drug abuse - not enough information - she was his ex-wife - she was his twin sister
she was his twin sister
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I thought I might get some good ideas if I went down to the hospital. I always have stayed away from hospitals. People died or were born. But now I thought I might get some idea if I went down to where it was all happening, the being born and the dying. Mostly the dying. It was the dying that interested me. I sat on a bench in a sort of waiting room. I wanted to call it a green room; it wasn't a place where the patients would wait to be called by the doctor; it was a place where the relatives would wait while the patient was in their room. It had a coffee bar, and comfortable couches, with trendy, muted colors on the walls and floor. Everything was clean and modern without being cold, a homogenized balancing act designed to keep everyone calm during their stressful time. It was a green room; patients were "guests"; their families were "guests" as well. Here was where the families would sit and be feted while they waited to be called out to perform, to smile and encourage or to don faces of appropriate mournfulness. The old ones would put on smiles, the young ones would look sad. I think I went there because it seemed to me that it was the place richest in emotional impact. It reeked of spent emotions, and the emotions were made all the stronger, here in the green room, by the efforts at suppression--the muted walls and gourmet coffees and scones, the overstuffed loveseats and couches, as if those in grief should not be permitted to sit on benches or folding chairs. It absolutely reeked of hush and hidden feeling. It was worse than a church. It was worse than a highschool hallway. It was more universal, more basic, something even the children could comprehend. Why did the author go to the hospital? - To get ideas - To examine the relatives of the patients - To examine the patients - not enough information
To get ideas
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Those of you who are regular readers of Beauty Best Friend will know that I suffer from a very sensitive, itchy scalp and I am constantly on the hunt for haircare products that are natural and non-irritating but that also treat my hair well and leave it feeling soft, shiny and clean. So far my experience has generally shown me that natural, SLS-free shampoos and conditioners do not irritate the scalp as much as their chemical filled cousins, but that they do not always clean the hair as well and can leave it looking and feeling greasy, sad and lifeless. One of the first SLS-free shampoo and conditioners that I tried, back in 2013, was Mild Shampoo and Gentle Conditioner from Naked. The relief that I got from my itchy scalp was almost instant, but I did find that it didn’t remove grease and oil from my hair too well, and I had to wash my hair a lot more often. Since then I’ve tried lots of different SLS-free haircare products, all of which have had their benefits and downfalls. For the past month I have been using Rescue Intensive Care Shampoo & Conditioner from Naked, aimed at frizzy, dry and damaged hair. As I had found such relief from my itchy scalp when using Naked products previously I wanted to try out another variant to see if it cleaned my hair any better. Prior to using the Rescue duo I had been having a really hard time with my scalp, but after just the first use of these natural products the itching had subsided about by 75%. Both the shampoo and conditioner have a lovely rich almond scent which stays on the hair after it is dry. The conditioner is a thick, rich cream and it feels like it is giving dry hair a real treat. Unfortunately these Naked products still don’t clean my hair as well as some other products, and I still feel that my hair can look greasy and lank the day after I’ve washed it. I have tried the ‘reverse poo’ method which helps a bit – this means conditioning your hair first, then shampooing it second – but my hair can get very tangled after the shampooing stage. The writer believes that: - natural shampoos scent does not stay on the hair - chemical shampoos leave hair looking greasy - not enough information - natural shampoo is better for the skin but doesn't clean as well

natural shampoo is better for the skin but doesn't clean as well
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