WASHINGTON — In 2004, Desmond Meade, while serving a 15-year prison sentence for a drug offense in Florida, got a break. An appeals court returned his conviction to the original trial bench, allowing him to plead guilty to a lesser charge and get out of prison in three years, most of which he had already served. But his freedom came with a price, something that didn’t quite register with him at the time: as part of his plea agreement with prosecutors, Meade agreed to give up his civil rights: the right to vote, to serve on a jury and to run for office. “At the time, when I first accepted the plea deal, I didn’t understand the consequences,” Meade says. Fourteen years and a pair of college and law degrees later, Meade, now 50, still can’t vote; his application to regain his civil rights was rejected in 2011. The reason: a new Florida law that requires felons like him to wait for seven years before they could apply for rights restoration. Home to nearly a quarter of the nation's disenfranchised felons, Florida has become a battleground in a national debate over felony disenfranchisement laws. With lawmakers deeply divided over the issue, Meade says he wants the state’s voters to change the system when they head to the polls on Nov. 6. He’s promoting a ballot initiative that would amend the state's constitution, restoring the voting rights of all felons in Florida (except those convicted of murder and sexual assault) after they’ve completed the terms of their sentence. The measure enjoys broad voter support. A Quinnipiac University poll conducted in February showed that 67 percent of Floridians were in favor of restoring the voting rights of felons other than those convicted of murder and sexual assault. Another poll showed support at 71 percent. “We’re going to change the system,” Meade says confidently. “What we’re doing is taking the power out of the hands of politicians and we’re allowing the citizens of the state of Florida to decide whether or not folks should have a second chance, to be able to vote.” Question: What is probably true about the lesser charge in Desmond Meade's case? === The answer to the above question is

Answer: It was still a felony.


The Texas church where a gunman opened fire during Sunday services, killing 26 and injuring 20, may not reopen. Pastor Frank Pomeroy of the First Baptist Church of Sutherland Springs told leaders of the Southern Baptist Convention earlier this week that it would be too painful to continue using the church as a place of worship. Pomeroy, who lost his own 14-year-old daughter in the massacre, proposed turning the site into a memorial and building another church on a different site. The final decision on the fate of the building will be made by the denomination's top leaders, who traveled to the rural community in a show of support. But a national Southern Baptist spokesman said the pastor's wishes will be taken into consideration. Other sites of mass shootings have been torn down, including Sandy Hook Elementary in Newtown, Connecticut, where a gunman killed 20 children and six adults in December 2012. A new school was built elsewhere. A one-room Amish schoolhouse near Lancaster, Pennsylvania, was torn down in 2006, 10 days after an assailant took children hostage and shot and killed five girls ages 6 to 13. The original site of the school is now a pasture. A nearly identical schoolhouse with a security fence was erected nearby. Also Thursday, the father of the Texas gunman broke his silence to say his family is in mourning. Michael Kelley spoke to ABC News on Wednesday from his home in New Braunfels, about 55 kilometers north of Sutherland Springs. He refused to comment further, saying he does not want the "media circus'' surrounding the attack by Devin Patrick Kelley to destroy "our lives, our grandchildren's lives.'' A motive for the carnage remains unclear, but the younger Kelley appears to have targeted the church because it was attended by his wife's family. He died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound after being shot and chased by two residents as he was leaving the church. Question: The pastor's speech probably lasted: === The answer to the above question is

Answer: 30 minutes


Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal. The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine. "Hello?" "Hey, Luna." "Dingo! Are you there yet?" "No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?" "Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables." "Yeah, good for him. He has the box?" I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm." "He hasn't opened it, has he?" She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos." Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you." I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth. "This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?" Question: What does Dingo like to do? === The answer to the above question is

Answer:
He likes to drive fast.