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: Who drove the '37 Buick Roadmaster? Options: - not enough information   - the stranger   - the narrator   - Harnie === The correct answer is
the stranger

I’ve shared my feelings about Temple Spa before in my review of Repose Aromatherapy Resting Cream. Basically, my first experience was a very pushy salesperson at a wedding fair several years ago which really put me off the brand, and it took me a while to try their products again. But when I did I was really impressed, and I can honestly say that nothing I’ve reviewed since has disappointed me! Today I’m reviewing Temple Spa Trufflesque, an Ultra  Hydration & Radiance Masque for the face. Trufflesque aims to give hydration and radiance to the skin, and plumps to help reduce the appearance of fine lines and wrinkles. It’s a luxury mask suitable for all skin types, particularly dry or dull skin, and it helps to rejuvenate tired skin too. The impressive list of ingredients includes black truffles, gold and silk peptides, but unfortunately these expensive additives contribute to Trufflesque’s slightly expensive price tag. The first thing that strikes me about this product is the amazing packaging. All Temple Spa products have really amazing, premium packaging, and I feel that they add to the feeling that you are about to use something really special on your skin. The dark glass jar has a gold lid and it is nestled in a gold and chocolate brown box with the most amazingly cute mask brush slotted in too. The mask itself is gold and it shimmers so prettily, if you look closely it’s almost as if you can see the particles of real gold! To apply you just paint the golden mask onto your face with the cute little brush (it makes applying the mask so easy) then leave for 15-20 minutes.  The mask doesn’t dry completely, it stays a little bit tacky to the touch, and I find that it makes my skin tingle quite a bit. For extra benefits you can also then massage the mask into your skin for around 2 minutes, before removing with a damp muslin cloth or flannel. Question: What did the narrator review? Options: - wedding fair   - face masque   - resting cream   - not enough information === The correct answer is
face masque

Q: 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. Question: How long the narrator was probably looking for Kim? Options: - Few hours   - Few dys   - not enough information   - Few years === The correct answer is

A: Few hours