Q: 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." The man smoked a cigarette: Pick the correct answer from the following options: - after stepping out of his car - in his car - not enough information - before saying a word
A: in his car


Q: Facebook has a long track record and sordid history of abusing their users’ trust and privacy, including the most recent and egregious cases currently making headlines with Cambridge Analytica as well as election meddling in the US and Britain. As if that wasn’t enough, it then came to light that they have also been tracking and storing users’ phone call and text message data, including “who contacted whom, what time, and how long the conversation was.” This is nothing new, as we can see from this 2012 “study” in which they deliberately manipulated news feeds to influence users’ emotional state. And again with their settlement with the FCC back in 2011 (that they likely violated with their recent offenses) over deceiving consumers by telling them their information was private, but then repeatedly sharing it and making it public. And then there’s The Ugly Memo, in which a FB exec justifies growth at any cost in the name of connecting people, even if that results literally in people dying: We talk about the good and the bad of our work often. I want to talk about the ugly. We connect people. That can be bad if they make it negative. Maybe it costs a life by exposing someone to bullies. Maybe someone dies in a terrorist attack coordinated on our tools. And still we connect people. The ugly truth is that we believe in connecting people so deeply that anything that allows us to connect more people more often is *de facto* good. And up until this most recent Cambridge Analytica scandal, Facebook was negotiating with various healthcare organizations to share patients’ health data with FB so they could match it up to your social circle to allegedly provide better health care. Um yeah right. Each time this stuff happens, they issue an apology (or a justification for their behavior) and promise they will take steps to better inform users and protect their privacy, but it’s clear that this is just lip service at this point. The narrator Probably believes that: Pick the correct answer from the following options: - not enough information - facebook will stop violating user privacy - People should minimise their facebook usage - people should stop using facebook
A: People should minimise their facebook usage


Q: There was a boy named Chan who loved his parents, though they did not love him back; he was not even given a first name. He had been born in the wrong month, during the wrong phase of the moon, his parents told him, and had brought them nothing but bad luck. The promotion at the factory promised to his father was taken away at the last moment. The garden his mother worked in nearly every day never produced anything more than the most meager of weeds since Chan's birth. It was often sunny in the little Chinese village, but there was an almost constant gloom over their house, as if a rogue cloud were blocking the sun only over their property. And his parents, of course, blamed Chan for everything. He was small for his age, and usually quiet. He liked to listen to people instead of talking, filling himself with stories. He was a good boy and always did as he was told, and could see the good in his parents, even if others couldn't. Every so often, his mother would allow him a sweet, or his father would bring home an origami folding kit. They didn't like to show it to others, but his parents could be kind. Chan was patient and knew they would love him eventually. He was digging one day between the fence and the west side of the house for grubs to feed to his pet chameleon, Rainbow. It was a warm July day not long after his tenth birthday. He often went there because it was cool and damp from the shade of the trees, and the worms seemed to like it there. He never took more than he needed, then he thanked the grubs for sacrificing their lives so that Rainbow could remain living and being his pet. Chan was very kind-hearted when it came to grubs. What pet did Chan have? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - not enough information - a chameleon - an origami bird - a grubworm

A: a chameleon