Problem: OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- The writer was too unpleasant and difficult to love.
- She was unhappy in the marriage and met someone else who she fell in love with.
- Her family persuaded her to do it.
Q: Yes, and I am not proud of it, but grief makes you do some really stupid things. My wife walked out of our 9 year marriage and into relationship on the same day with a (so-called) friend of mine that I had known for 25 years. I was completely blindsided and in shock. I was devastated, I was lost, and I was grieving terribly. I had not only lost my wife, but I had also lost my best friend (her, not the asshole so-called friend), and her family. While I was not particularly close to her family (most did not like me according to my ex-wife) I did care about them and they were are part of my life. I absolutely loved her sister and always enjoyed hanging out with her, as well as one of her cousins. Luckily they are both still friends with me on FB so I get to keep in touch. Anyway, I am not proud of the fact that I created a fake FB account to check her page and even talked to her through IM’s. I thought that if I could just talk to her, even if not as me, that I would be okay. However, seeing photos of her with someone else just about broke me. It was a very stupid thing to do and only made matters worse. One day I forgot to block my location and she figured out it was me. I felt so stupid, but I had loved her so much that I needed her in my life. She called me out on it. I was busted. I was the grieving idiot that did not want to give up. She just married that person 2 weeks ago, and honestly….I just want her to be happy. I miss her, I always will, and in hindsight, I don’t know why she stayed with me as long as she did. I was not an easy person to love. Question: Why did the writer's wife leave him? === The answer to the above question is
Answer: not enough information


Problem:OPTIONS:
- Brownstone Avenue
- not enough information
- Broke Avenue
- Columbus Avenue

Michael Morzeny put his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and hugged the fabric tighter around his body. The winter wind hurried down Columbus Avenue and the hem of his coat flapped around his knees letting little pockets of cold waft up to invade the warmth his body had spent so much time preparing and storing around his torso. With a bitter squeeze of his hands, his knuckles now getting cold, Morzeny bowed his square shoulders to the wind and continued walking. At sixty-seven years old the New York winters bothered Morzeny more than he cared to admit. And, although no doctor would admit it to him, he was positive that the first faint hints of arthritis tweaking through his hands were made worse by the cold. At every cross street the setting sun flashed through to the avenue in shades of crisp pink and red. Morzeny didn't want to be working right now. But these outings were the price he paid for having a hybrid job, owning buildings and brokering as many of his own leases as possible. When he had first come to the city he had been told that he needed a job, not for income, his providers took care of that, but for his own sanity. Something to keep him going. He had asked for something in real estate and had never bothered to wonder what other paths he might have taken. He had always been able to focus to the point of blindness. It helped him in every aspect of his work. He arrived at the brownstone building housing the apartment he was to show tonight. His building was tucked into a short row of buildings that squatted over the street, their steps reaching towards the curb like stunted growths. More to prove to himself that he could do it than anything else, Morzeny took the front steps two at a time. Question: What avenue was Morzeny walking down? === The answer to the above question is
****
A: Columbus Avenue


input: OPTIONS:
- Because the author wanted to admire the hundreds of citrus trees
- Because the author wanted to talk to the truck driver
- not enough information
- Because the author wanted to buy some kilos of clementines Now, answer this question: What would you do – you’re driving past hundreds of citrus trees. With a better look, they’re mandarins, or, more precisely clementines. On the roadside is a truck selling crates of them for 1 euro a kilo. You stop, right? And buy a crate of 10 kilos. Even though you have to get on a plane the next day. I couldn’t help myself. Marco, who I had already made turn 180 degrees to drive back to the truck, gave me that look of disapproval when I want to do something totally unreasonable like impulse buy citrus fruit that we can’t keep. “What are we going to do with these?” He questioned. I wasn’t sure. I wanted to taste them, I wanted to photograph them. And maybe I could even squeeze some of them into our tiny bag to take home. “It won’t be a waste, I’ll give the rest away!” I reasoned. He just shook his head, giving in. I bought them, a big grin on my face. We were just outside the port city of Taranto, on the western coast of Puglia in Italy’s deep south, where we spent a long weekend recently and where clementines have special IGP (Protected Geographical Indication) status. These clementines — a hybrid of oranges and mandarins — grow in the fertile soil around the gulf of Taranto, particularly around the town of Palagiano (also known as “the city of clementines” — they celebrate the symbol of their city with a sagra, a food festival, every December) and the delicate fruit is harvested by hand. We don’t get these in Florence, it was my only chance to taste them – they are small with very few, if any, seeds, and they are very sweet. Question: Why did Marco have to make a turn back? === The answer to the above question is
A:
output:
Because the author wanted to buy some kilos of clementines