input:  Now, answer this question: I showed up at the address on Columbine's invitation just before eleven; it was a converted warehouse in an industrial zone on the city's north side. Since it was a Saturday night, everything else was empty for miles. The parking lot was filled with sports cars, hybrids, and shiny suburban tanks. The door facing the parking lot was open, spilling out muted lights and the din of yuppie chatter. It cast a somewhat foreboding aura over the entrance. The first thing I noticed as I approached was the beefy refrigerator in a rented tux blocking the doorway. The second thing was the surveillance camera perched on the wall above his head. I had stopped home and changed first, so I was sure I was dressed mostly appropriately for some rich faux-hipster art party - charcoal gray pinstripe jacket over a TV on the Radio t-shirt, skinny cuffed jeans, Docs, and a black fedora. I certainly didn't look any worse than the other idiots I saw filing in and out of the door. I even had an invitation. So I was fairly confident I'd be able to gain admission to this thing without incident. "No, absolutely not," the doorman said, pressing a meaty palm into my chest. "I was invited!" I said, exasperated. "I have documentation." I waved the rave card in front of his face. "No dice." I stepped aside to let a couple of aging goths through the door and wondered for a moment if the doorman somehow knew who I was. Then I noticed the ear piece he was wearing and my eyes darted back to the surveillance camera. "Motherfucker," I spat and raised both arms to flip off the camera. I didn't know it at the time, but at that moment Dylan Maxwell was sitting in front of a wall of monitors, laughing his ass off. According to the above context, answer the following question. How long has the narrator known Dylan Maxwell?
A:
output: not enough information

input:  Now, answer this question: Thank you for the A2A ….. What has been your biggest heartbreak during your adult years? Had I answered this question 20 years ago, it would have been the death of my Daddy … Had it been 12 years ago, it would have been the death of my Mother … Had it been 10 years ago, it would have been when my son turned his back on God so far that he went into satanism … As it is now ~ I would have to say that the biggest heartbreak in my life was 3 years ago when I discovered (online) that my beautiful daughter had begun taking Testosterone injections. Believe me ~ I’ve been told time after time that her decision to do so is her own … to that fact I will agree. What I cannot agree with though, is that I have no right to feel hurt, upset, or any of the other assorted emotions that come with having a transgender child!! It’s not okay to be devastated by the choices my little girl makes … Its not okay to not agree with what she’s doing to herself … It’s not gonna have an impact on her family … It’s not something that is allowed to affect our relationship … The ONLY thing that matters ~ is the transgender person and how they feel!!!! One of the biggest things that bothers me is when I’m told that I can’t love my child ~ unless I accept that she wants to be a male and give her support with that decision. I can say that I do love my daughter ~ I always have ~ and I always will. A mother’s love doesn’t go away. ***To those who wish to attack me for what I have to say on the topic of transgenderism ~ I respect your right to tell me your opinion and why you think I’m wrong … but my feelings matter, too, and deserve that same respect from you.*** Wishing you the best!! According to the above context, answer the following question. She has been feeling heartbroken for:
A:
output: a long time.

input:  Now, answer this question: Manny had Bob Marley cranking on the stereo, his van was full of passengers, and the air conditioning was working after a long week of giving him trouble. The sun beat down on the wet-looking asphalt road that ran along the harbor, next to the concrete waterfront. It curved along in front of the brightly colored Dutch Colonial warehouses of Charlotte Amalie, which were now converted restaurants and jewel shops. Tourists in day-glo shirts and daubs of sunscreen rubbed over peeling skin crowded both sides of the waterfront road. Manny slowed somewhat, keeping an eye on them. On the sidewalk by the shops a tall black man stood by a food cart. The hand-painted wooden sign hanging from the cart's side had faded letters. The man wore a grand suit with tails, like an orchestra conductor, and a top hat perched on his shaved head. A cigar burned in his mouth. For a brief second he held Manny's attention. Then the food cart's owner stepped forward and the strangely dressed man disappeared. Manny looked at the other side of the road. A white girl with oval shaped sunglasses and pink leather pants stepped off the sidewalk into the road in front of his van. He slammed on the brakes, trying to dodge her, but the van couldn't respond that fast. Her ponytail flew up towards the windshield and her head struck the star-shaped hood ornament. She bounced along the asphalt. Manny weaved the van to a stop, with swearing from the passengers in the back. He opened the door and stepped out into the heat. Get up, stand up, the radio cried out, and that was what Manny hoped would happen. He hoped that she would at least just stir and be okay. But she just lay there. According to the above context, answer the following question. Why was Manny looking at the man by the cart?
A:
output:
He was dressed strangely.