text:
This is the third part of my series on the 2008-9 revision of the Greek deficit and the events that led to it; it considers the specific allegations related to the 2008-9 deficit revision. Part 1 of the series is available here, and Part 2 is available here. Part 4 is underway.

THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE

It's hard to overstate just how much of what goes on in the world (even the unsavoury bits) is a matter of record, if not entirely in the public domain. Conspiracy theorists' claims are, as a result, always much more testable than they realise. This is true of Greece's 2008-9 deficit revision.

Here's what you need to make your way through the revisions:

-   Eurostat's rules on Government deficit and debt calculation are in the public domain. The ones in place at the time of the 2010 methodological visits are recorded here, while the revised rules of 2012 are available here. The European System of Accounts (ESA95) which was in force at the time is explained in detail here. We've since moved on to ESA2010.
-   Eurostat keeps a record of its decisions on how methodological matters should be dealt with, and a record of guidance , visits and advice to member states.
-   All notifications under the Excessive Deficit Procedure (EDP) are available here. The ones most relevant to the 2008-9 deficit review are April 2008, October 2008, April 2009, October 2009 (the first one, of 2/10), April 2010 and October 2010.
-   It's important to remember that the Oct 2009 Notification was fatally flawed; no one accepts it; not Eurostat, not ELSTAT, not the old ESYE, not the conspiracy theorists. No one.
-   Eurostat's report on the 2010 revision of Greek deficit statistics is available herewith a very helpful annex here. Their report on the 2004 revision is available here. And here  (pp 31 and 32) is the commission's breakdown of the revisions made back in 2004.
-   Eurostat has also published reports on their methodological visits to Greece in 2006 (Spring), 2006 (Autumn)  and 2010.
-   The 2010 Greek expert report into the reliability of fiscal statistics is available here (in Greek)

Using the EDP notification tables, it is relatively easy to present a history of our 2008 and 2009 deficit forecasts and estimates, by vintage. All timings refer to the EDP notifications in which each estimate was made, but, since EDP notifications don't go back more than four years , I've also added the figures currently cited by Eurostat. For comparability, these are all ESA95 stats.

[]

As you can see, the flawed Oct 2009 notifications conducted by ESYE, ELSTAT's non-independent predecessor, revised our 2008 and 2009 deficits enormously. Yet, while the Oct 2009 notifications were both severely wrong on many levels, their estimates of the 2008 and 2009 deficits weren't overly _high_ - the figures Eurostat and ELSTAT agree on today, and which I think are methodologically sound, are in both cases significantly _worse_ than what came out of the Oct 2009 notification. This means that, unless one rejects all subsequent revisions, the Oct 2009 notification did not _inflate_ the deficit. Conspiracy theorists can only, perhaps, claim that it drew _attention_ to the deficit at the wrong time. Which is true enough, but not treason.

To help you assess the timing of notifications, I've put together a simple timeline, with help from Wikipedia:

-   2 October 2009: The first October 2009 EDP notification is submitted, revising Greece's 2009 deficit forecast from EUR9.3bn (3.7% of GDP) to EUR30.1bn (12.5% of GDP).

-   4 October 2009: PASOK winsthe 2009 legislative elections
-   21 October 2009: A second October 2009 EDP notification is submitted.
-   22 October 2009: Fitch downgrades Greece from A to A-
-   8 December 2009: Fitch downgrades Greece from A- to BBB+
-   16 December 2009: S&P downgrades Greece from A- to BBB+
-   22 December 2009: Moody's downgrades Greece from A1 to A2
-   2 January 2010: An expert report into the reliability of Greek fiscal statistics is published
-   8 January 2010: Eurostat publishes its report on Greek fiscal statistics
-   9 March 2010: Greece's new statistical law comes into force, establishing ELSTAT as an independent entity.
-   29-31 March 2010: Eurostat methodological visit.
-   1 April 2010: The April 2010 EDP Notification is submitted, revising Greece's 2009 deficit from EUR30.1bn (12.5% of GDP) to EUR32.3bn (13.6% of GDP).
-   9 April 2010: Fitch downgradesGreece from BBB+ to BBB-
-   21 April 2010: Bailout talks begin
-   22 April 2010: Moody's downgradesGreece from A2 to A3.
-   23 April 2010: Greece formally requests a bailout from the IMF, EU and ECB.
-   27 April 2010: S&P downgradesGreece from A to BB
-   2 May 2010: The first bailout is signed
-   21-22 June: Eurostat methodological visit
-   26 July 2010: Regulation no 697/2010 comes into force, giving Eurostat auditing powers
-   2 August 2010: A. Georgiou takes over as president of ELSTAT.
-   27-29 September 2010: Eurostat methodological visit
-   11 October-9 November 2010: Eurostat methodological visit
-   15 November 2010: Eurostat publishes Greek fiscal data from 2004-2009 without reservations for the first time.

THE ORIGINS OF A REVISION TARGET - ACCOUNTING FOR ISSUANCE

As readers know, I do not deal in 'insider' accounts. I am not privy to what went on within ESYE or ELSTAT except through what accounts there are in the public domain. However, I'm willing to bet that, come October 2009, the old ESYE's leadership knew that producing a deficit figure below ca. EUR30bn for 2009 and EUR20bn for 2008 would lose them the last of the international community's remaining goodwill, and I'm willing to bet they were under orders to reach those levels while still allowing their bosses (first ND, then PASOK ministers) to look reasonably good. The reason was simple, and it was not treachery; foreign analysts could see for themselves how much debt Greece was _issuing,_ and it was way out of line with our deficit projections_._

It is not impossible to manipulate deficit statistics in order to exaggerate government deficits; however, it _is_ impossible to manipulate the numbers on bond issuance. Bond issues are, after all, probably the most public financial transactions in the world. Eurostat estimatesnet issuance (all securities issued minus all securities repaid) of EUR23bn in 2008 and EUR38bn in 2009. It would be hard to believe that our deficits (in cash terms, at least) were orders of magnitude smaller than this.

If you're a conspiracy theorist, you may not trust Eurostat on this matter; but bond-watching analysts' estimates at the time might convince you. By Nov 2009, gross issuance for the year was estimated at EUR59bn by Barclays Capital and later at EUR61.3bn by Danske Bank; and since EUR25.9bn of Greek bonds matured or were repaid over the year, that leads us back to a net issuance of EUR35.4bn for 2009. Similarly, as of Dec 2008, gross issuance for the year was estimated at EUR44bn; suggesting net issuance was way ahead of the projected deficit.

It is, of course, possible for a country to net issue more bonds than it needs to, if it is tactically overborrowing to take advantage of low interest rates. But Greece was raising funds in the teeth of literally the biggest bond sale in human history. It was common knowledge that the debt we were raising at the time would cost us dearly. It is also possible, in a conspiracy theorist's mind, for a government to intentionally overborrow in order to bring about a fiscal crisis, but then the bulk of the 2009 issuance was not carried out by the new PASOK government at all. It was carried out by the outgoing ND government which protested the new estimates and started the 2009 deficit myth in the first place!

In any case, it's worth comparing the EUR35.4bn of net bond issuance for 2009 to the conspiracy theorists' own upper-bound estimate for the 2009 deficit: 7.9% of GDP (based on the Oct 2010 notification) _before_ accounting for what they allege was a major GDP underestimate. This produces an utterly impossible net borrowing requirement of EUR18.5bn - these people truly believe the Greek government had issued some EUR17bn worth of bonds just for fun in 2009.

THE TIMING AND IMPACT OF REVISIONS

Timing is key to the inflated deficit myth: it is, after all, alleged that Greece's 'falsified' deficit figures triggered our debt crisis, hastened the involvement of the IMF in our bailout, or were used to build support for austerity policies domestically. The goalposts keep shifting, so one needs to be careful.

The first EDP notification to significantly review the 2008-9 deficits was the Oct 2009 notification, which came in two parts - the original notification of 2 October, and a follow-up notification on 21 October. Not only was this not prepared by ELSTAT (which did not exist at the time) - the first shocking set of figures was submitted ahead of PASOK winning the 2009 legislative elections. While the timing doesn't tie in well with conspiracy theories, it does tie in with the narrative of the crsis. As you can see here, our October 2009 notification, combined with Dubai's unfolding sovereign debt crisis, was the signal for foreign banks to up sticks and get out of Greek bonds. Greece had put up its hand to ask for a loo break just as investors were wondering who would be the next sovereign to go bust. This is tactically awful, of course, and had I been a PASOK minister I might have tried to stall as long as possible. But the massive deficit and international scrutiny were both already there; a budget would be drawn up in early 2010 no matter what. Greece could not put this off forever.

[]

While foreign banks were individually heading for the exits post October 2009, in other ways the market was slow to catch on. Greece CDS premia were only beginning to diverge from the rest of the periphery in Q4 2009, and it took credit rating agencies, on average, until Q1 2010 to take Greece below investment grade (graph taken from here). Similarly, Google search trends for the Greek deficit only start to really pick up in March 2010. Throughout all of this, the revision of the _2008_ deficit hardly made it into the international financial press at all; it was the dramatic revision of the _2009_ deficit that was cited most.

question: What does the article say about the conspiracy theorists' position on the Greek debt crisis?

answer: The author says that the conspiracy theorists believe the Greek debt was exaggerated to provide support for austerity policies by triggering the debt crisis and getting IMF involved quicker. The conspiracy theorists say that the Greek GDP was heavily underestimated and that the upper bound for the Greek debt was 7.9% of GDP before the underestimate, which puts the maximum debt figure at EUR18.8bn. However, comparing the net bond issuance in 2009 of EUR35.4bn, this means that the Greek government must have issued EUR17bn worth of bonds without a real reason. The government may have intentionally overborrowed to trigger a fiscal crisis, but most of the bonds were issued by the outgoing ND government, which opposed the new estimates and started the deficit myth. Finally, another point to consider about the conspiracies is the existence of many different financial agencies reporting similar figures for the Greek debt.

question: What does the article say about the Greek debt crisis?

answer: The article discusses the publicly available sources corroborating the amount of debt of the Greek government before the official bailout request. The author tries to convince the skeptics about the correctness of the official numbers, citing many different sources both in Greece and otherwise in Europe. The amount of deficit forecasted becomes troubling on 2 October 2009 for the first time at 12.5% of GDP (EUR30.1bn). By the middle of 2010, the deficit is 13.6% of GDP at EUR32.3bn, and the Greek government officially asks for a bailout. Among the reports, the EDP notifications specifically, there is one that's discarded as mostly inaccurate by all parties (even the conspiracy theorists), which is the October 2009 notification.

question: What does the article say about what the austerity measures were?


split: test

text:
HAREFIELD is a village in the London Borough of Hillingdon, England in the historic County of Middlesex, on a hill, northwest of Charing Cross near Greater London's boundary with Buckinghamshire to the west and Hertfordshire to the north. The population at the 2011 Census was 7,399.[1] The northern part of Uxbridge, Harefield is the westernmost settlement in London.

Harefield is near Denham, Ickenham, Northwood, Rickmansworth, Ruislip and Uxbridge. Pioneering heart surgery techniques were developed at Harefield Hospital.

History

Two sites near Dewes Farm have produced late Mesolithic artefacts.[2] Harefield enters recorded history through the _Domesday Book_ (1086) as _Herefelle_,[3] comprising the Anglo-Saxon words _Here_ “[danish] army” (c.f. the English _fyrd_)[4] and _felle_ (later _feld_), “field”.[5] Before the Norman conquest of England Harefield belonged to Countess Goda, the sister of Edward the Confessor. Her husbands were French, Dreux of the Vexin and Count Eustace of Boulogne.[6]

Following the Norman conquest, ownership of Harefield passed to Richard FitzGilbert, the son of Count Gilbert of Brionne. It was listed in the Domesday Book as comprising enough arable land for five ploughs, with meadow land only sufficient for one plough. Woodland areas in Middlesex were registered in the number of pigs which could be supported there; Harefield had 1,200, the second highest in the Hundred of Elthorne to Ruislip, with 1,500.[7] Ten villeins (tenants) are also counted; they held their land freely from the lord in exchange for rent payments and labour. By the 12th or 13th century their land is believed to have passed back to the lord and become unfree. There were also seven bordars (poorer tenants) with five acres each, while one had three. In addition, three cottars, who owned a cottage and garden, also feature.[8]

Harefield was eventually split into the main manor of Harefield, and the two smaller submanors of Brackenbury and Moorhall. It had been owned by the Clares, descended from Richard FitzGerald, before passing to the Batchworths by 1235. In turn, the Swanlord family took possession in 1315. By 1446, the Newdigate family owned Harefield - they still owned some land in the 1920s. John Newdigate exchanged most of his land in 1585 with the Chief Justice of the Court of Common Pleas, Sir Edmund Anderson. He sold the manor to Sir Thomas Egerton, who staged an elaborate entertainment for Queen Elizabeth in 1602.[9]

During World War I, Harefield Park was used as an Australian military hospital. The bodies of the servicemen who died there were buried with full military honours within the graveyard of St Mary's Church; the area, which also included the ground where the Harefield Place building stood, became a military cemetery.[10]

Notable buildings

Harefield Hospital

Harefield Hospital is a world-famous heart and lung hospital. It is part of the Royal Brompton & Harefield NHS Foundation Trust, the largest specialist heart and lung centre in the UK, and among the largest in Europe. Its sister hospital in the trust is the Royal Brompton Hospital in Chelsea.

Sir Magdi Yacoub, consultant cardiothoracic surgeon at Harefield Hospital (1969–2002), carried out the first live lobe lung transplant, and went on to perform more transplants than any other surgeon in the world. By the end of the 1980s Harefield Hospital was the leading transplant centre. Magdi Yacoub was involved in the development of heart and heart-lung transplants.

St Mary the Virgin Church

St Mary's Parish Church (off Church Hill) is Harefield's oldest building and an important focal point for the Harefield community. A priest is first mentioned in the manor of Harefield in the _Domesday Book_ (1086). In the late 12th century the advowson was given to the Knights Hospitallers, although the Newdigate family later became patrons of the church. The church building has some medieval features, but was restored and altered in 1768, and again in 1841.[11]

The church cemetery contains the graves of over 100 soldiers of the First Australian Imperial Force who died at No. 1 Australian Auxiliary Hospital (Harefield Park Hospital) after being wounded in World War I. The hospital became Harefield prior to World War II. Each year on Anzac Day a commemoration service is attended by local dignitaries, representatives from the Australian and New Zealand governments, local school children and many retired servicemen. Following the church service the congregation move to the cemetery and form around the Anzac memorial. The last post and reveille are played, followed by a wreath-laying ceremony. Local school children also place flowers on the well-kept grave sites.

The church holds the tomb in which Alice Stanley, Dowager Countess of Derby was laid to rest in January 1637. Dowager Stanley was a Spencer, from Althorp in Northamptonshire, of the family to which Diana Princess of Wales belonged. She was the widow of Ferdinando, 5th Earl of Derby, who had been poisoned because of his closeness to the throne of England. Very soon after Ferdinando's murder in 1594 Alice had to move out of Lathom and Knowsley in Lancashire. She came to live at Harefield Place in considerable splendour. The house stood to the south of the present church and parts of its moat and brickwork can still be seen.

Alice, Dowager Countess of Derby was also Dowager Viscountess Brackley. Her second husband Thomas Egerton, Lord Ellesmere, an eminent lawyer and Lord Chancellor of England, had died in 1617. But the Derby title was the one she preferred to be known by, and it is the one by which she is described on her funeral monument, which is surely one of the finest of its time anywhere in England. The mourning daughters beside the tomb are not meant to be lifelike representations of her actual daughters, Anne, Frances and Elizabeth; they conform to a stereotype often observed on grand monuments of this kind. But the figure of Alice Countess of Derby is probably closer to historical reality. She wears the coronet of a Countess, not a Viscountess, and at the foot of her tomb is a coroneted eagle, a reminder of the Stanleys' armorial crest. This commemorates their descent from the Lathoms, which was the foundation of their fortunes.

Sir Michael Shersby, MP for Uxbridge from 1972 to 1997, is buried in the churchyard along with his widow Lady Barbara.

Manor of Harefield

[The huts at Harefield Park, an Australian Military Hospital during World War I]

The ancient Manor of Harefield was held by the Newdigate family from about 1440. The old Manor house, Harefield Place, adjacent to St Mary the Virgin church, was replaced in 1786, when a new mansion house was built at Harefield Lodge. The old 'Harefield Place' fell into disrepair and was demolished in 1813, whereupon the new Manor house became known as Harefield Place. It was sold by Charles Newdigate Newdegate in 1877. In 1938 it was acquired by the local authority to serve as a hospital. In 1959 the land was redeveloped and is now the Harefield Place Golf Club.

Harefield House, a Grade 2 listed building, High Street, Harefield, was built by Sir Roger Newdigate in about 1750. From about 1765 to 1809 it was occupied by J. M. Bruhl. During World War I it served as No. 1 Australian Auxiliary Hospital. In 1937 it was acquired by the Ministry of Defence and was occupied by the Aeronautical Inspection Directorate. After 1982 the building was restored and converted to office use. In 2015 the building was used as the filming location for the interior of the island mansion in the TV adaptation of Agatha Christie's mystery novel _And Then There Were None_.[12]

The Harefield Academy

The Harefield Academy replaced the John Penrose School in September 2005. The new academy is an age 11 to 18 school with accommodation for 750 students aged 11 to 15 and a further 250 post-16 students.

The School is set in the village of Harefield on the edge of the green belt and is adjacent to the commencement of agricultural land.

The Department for Children, Schools and Families (DCSF), a number of directors of Watford Football Club, and the London Borough of Hillingdon worked together to seek to bring about a significant improvement in educational and health standards.

The Harefield Academy project is part of the Government's Academies initiative.

Sport

Harefield is home to Harefield United Football Club, which was founded in 1868 and is the oldest in Middlesex.[13]

Harefield is home to Harefield Cricket Club, whose first and second teams play their matches at the Woods Cricket Ground on Breakspear Road North. In 2008, however, the Dairy Farm Ground (behind the current first team pitch) was opened in order to accommodate the third and fourth XIs. This was done in conjunction with the Harefield Parochial Charity. In 2009, the first XI achieved promotion to the Home Counties Cricket League, and are therefore one division away from the highest level of club cricket in England and Wales. In 2010, HCC had the most successful season in its history, with the second, third & fourth XI's all winning their respective leagues. The Sunday Academy side won their division of the Chess Valley League. The 2014 season saw the first XI play their first season in the Premier Division and after a protracted relegation battle, they survived on the last game of season.[14] A second season in the top flight secured their status as the highest ranked club in the area.

Harefield is also home to an Elite Gymnastics Academy. The Harefield Academy, Northwood Road, opened in September 2005 on the John Penrose School site.[15]

Victoria Cross recipients

Harefield is associated with three recipients of the Victoria Cross. Two booklets in the Reference section of Harefield library give details of the three recipients of the award.

-   Lieutenant-General Gerald Goodlake VC (1832–1890), who served with the Coldstream Guards in the Crimean War, is buried in St Mary's parish churchyard.
-   Private Cecil John Kinross VC (1896–1957), who distinguished himself at Passchendaele in World War I, was born in Harefield; he moved with his family in 1912 to Lougheed, Alberta.
-   Sergeant Robert Edward Ryder VC (1895–1978), who served in World War I in the Middlesex Regiment, was born and is buried in Harefield. A blue plaque on The Old Workhouse marks his birthplace.

A gold plaque in the Royal British Legion Hall honours the exceptional bravery of both Goodlake VC and Ryder VC. In 2011, Hillingdon Council erected a blue plaque in honour of the courage of Kinross VC at the place of his birth on the anniversary of his birthday, 17 February.

Other notable people

-   Rhodes Boyson (1925–2012), Conservative Member of Parliament
-   Brian Connolly (1945–1997), singer of glam rock band Sweet grew up in Harefield and Hayes from the age of 12
-   Thomas Egerton, Lord Ellesmere (1540–1617) and wife Alice Spencer (1559–1637), lived in Harefield from 1601; Queen Elizabeth I visited the couple in July 1602
-   Alexander Fleming (1881–1955), biologist and Nobel Prize winner for the discovery of penicillin, was Regional Pathologist at Harefield Hospital, 1939; this is recorded on a blue plaque at the main entrance door to the hospital
-   Russell Grant (born 1951), TV astrologer, grew up in Harefield and was head chorister at St Mary's parish church
-   Politician Charles Newdigate (1816–1887), lived in Harefield, and was buried in Harefield Church, which he had personally spent much money restoring
-   Judge Sir Richard Newdigate (1602–1678), lived in Harefield, and was buried in Harefield parish church, where a monument was raised to his memory
-   Henry Avray Tipping (1855–1933), designed and built Little Hammonds in Breakspear Road North. Tipping was architectural editor of _Country Life_ magazine and was responsible for the layout of the garden at Chequers
-   Thomas Wakley (1795–1862), medical and social reformer, and founder of _The Lancet_, lived at Harefield Park, 1845–1856; he has a memorial stone in the grounds of Harefield Hospital

Transport

Although there is no eponymous tube or railway station in Harefield, buses in the area link to Northwood and Uxbridge tube stations and Denham and Rickmansworth railway stations.

Buses

Harefield is served by route 331 operating between Uxbridge and Ruislip, and route U9 between Uxbridge and Harefield Hospital.

Nearest Underground stations

-   Moor Park
-   Northwood
-   Rickmansworth
-   Uxbridge

Nearest railway stations

-   Denham
-   Rickmansworth

[1]

[2] J. Cotton, J. Mills, G. Clegg (1986) 'Archaeology in West Middlesex,' Echo Press, Loughborough. pp. 29–31

[3] Domesday Book, http://keithbriggs.info/documents/DB_place-name_forms_alphabetic.pdf

[4] Bosworth, Joseph. “HERE.” An Anglo-Saxon Dictionary: Based on the Manuscript Collections of the Late Joseph Bosworth. Ed. Thomas Northcote Toller. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1898. 532. See: http://bosworth.ff.cuni.cz/018861

[5] D. MILLS. “Harefield.” A Dictionary of British Place-Names. 2003. Retrieved 21 November 2011 from Encyclopedia.com: http://www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1O40-Harefield.html

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11] [http://www.aim25.ac.uk/cgi-bin/vcdf/detail?coll_id=15136&inst_id=118&nv1=search&nv2= Church records]

[12]

[13]

[14] http://www.oxfordmail.co.uk/sport/11458306.CRICKET__Harefield_escape_at_Banbury/

[15] The Harefield Academy website

title: Harefield

question: Summarize the history of Harefield.

answer: Harefield is a village in the London Borough of Hillingdon, England. It was historically made up of a main manor and two smaller submanors, Brackenbury and Moorhall. Harefield was owned by the Clares, whom descended from Richard Fitzgerald and it was eventually passed down to the Batchworths by 1235. In 1315, the Swanlord family took possession and by 1446, the Newdigate family owned Harefield. During World War I, Harefield Park was used as an Australian military hospital. Many who died there were buried within the graveyard of St. Mary's church.


text:
                                           Aspect: A Short Story
As they made their way out of town the sky opened up and a light drizzle began to spatter the windshield.
"Awesome. 40 degrees and raining. My kind of day," chirped Joe from the passenger seat.
Will shivered.
"Hey what's this?"
Joe was holding up a letter. Will snatched it from his hand.
"Relax! Who do you know in Boston anyway?"
       Will looked away. He knew Joe worked best when he was left in the dark.
The particular farm they were headed to today was owned by a man named Wilson Tucker. Both men had worked odd jobs for him in the past and Will respected him immensely.
Mr. Tucker was a widower with a grown son who had no interest in the workings of a farm. He must have been a man of sixty, but he could outwork a man half his age and twice his size. Which just so happened to describe Joe... Joe had a different opinion of the man.
"Why are we doing this? I thought you said we were done with the grunt work. This is your big plan?"
Will flicked on the radio.
There was something comforting in listening to his fellow citizens ripping into the Sox for stumbling through yet another post-season. A tragic story told for the hundredth time. The host was trying to explain to a caller that the pitching was the problem. The caller held the opposing view, that offense was what this team needed, pitching was the least of their concerns. Will considered the conflict.
"This guy's an idiot!" squawked Joe.
Will had forgotten he was there.
"Which one?" Joe furrowed his brow and took a long drag from his cigarette.
" The host! How do you expect to win if you don't score?"
Will flicked the radio off.
He eased on the accelerator as he manuevered up the long road to their destination. Tucker Farm was situated in the shadow of Mt. Brentman, on the North side. When Mr. Tucker bought the land he was led to believe that the state was going to build a new road that would cut through the pass and connect his land with Route 22. When the project was scrapped, people privately laughed at him for buying such a useless plot of land. Mr. Tucker never said a word, he simply built his own road. Perhaps more of a trail than a road. But if you had four wheel drive and weren't afraid of heights, it was an amazing example of determination. Will couldn't help but admire the man.
"Son of a bitch!"
Will had been day-dreaming with his foot on the gas and hit a particularly bad pot hole at 25mph and the rest of Joe's coffee was now soaking into his lap. Will winced at the sound of metal on metal as he pressed on the brake.
"I'm gonna make sure the trucks alright."
Joe was wiping the last of his precious coffee from the trucks armrest when Will reappeared at the window.
"You know how lucky we are? Come look at this."
As the pair approached the alleged pot-hole, it wasn't a pot-hole at all, but a 3-foot wide fissure running straight through the road with a 200 foot drop straight down the side of the mountain. It was invisible until you were almost right on top of it.
"Holy shit!"
Joe was leaning far out over the abyss to get a better view. The rain was coming down harder now.
"Get away from there! Look at it. Its crumbling. If I wasn't going so fast we woulda..."
Joe was kicking at the edges of the rift.
"Remember the time that miserable old bastard nearly ripped me outta my truck when I broke his 5mph speed limit? Ha! It's a good thing you got a lead foot or we'd be lyin' at the bottom of that hill right now!"
Mr. Tucker was what you would call an eccentric man. His land was riddled with projects in various stages of completion or disrepair, depending on your perspective. As a symbol to his unique personality, in the southwest corner, at the top of a small hill overlooking his home-made road, sat an exact replica of his farmhouse at 1/6 scale. Any visitor lucky enough to survive the winding trail was greeted by the welcome sight of a house off in the distance. Upon closing the gap on this mirage and passing by what amounted to a playhouse, they were astonished to find the same view they had seen minutes earlier. Only this time it was no mirage but his actual house, on a hill, off in the distance. If this confounding sense of humor wasnt enough to dissuade you from venturing further, Mr. Tucker assumed you had a good reason to be there.
Tucker Farm itself consisted of nothing more than a farmhouse in the middle of a large overgrown field. Nothing had grown there in the 20 odd years since his wife died and his son moved away. But Mr. Tucker was fiercely protective of his land and wouldn't move for anything. He was made several lucrative offers over the years and refused them all. Responding to them all the same way in neatly written cursive.
"You can have my land when I'm dead. Until then, please leave me alone."
It was well known that his land happened to sit in the path of a proposed super-highway that, if ever approved, would see the owner of the land profit very handsomely. As Will pulled up to the house he wondered how this lonely piece of land could possibly mean that much to anyone.
Mr. Tucker was waiting in the doorway when they reached the front steps.
"William! How are ya my boy!?"
Will reminded Mr. Tucker of his son, he had told him so on several occasions. The junior Tucker was a big shot lawyer down in Boston and didn't have time to tramp through the forest to visit his old man. It had been three years since he had seen his son and you could see the fatherly affection glint in his eyes when he shook Wills hand.
"I've been well Mr. Tucker. How are you?"
Joe kicked the ground and stared at his feet.
"And you! Are you ready to work this time? You're not gonna fall apart on me again are ya?" 	Fire danced in Joes eyes.
"You might wanna worry less about me and more about..."
Will cut him off.
"So I see you've been busy around here lately. The house looks great, did you paint the whole thing yourself?"
Mr. Tucker was glaring at Joe.
"Of course I did! I might be old but I'm not useless yet."
Joe was about to ask if he meant to leave all those bare patches but he felt Will's eyes on him and bit his tongue.
"Well, c'mon in. Have some breakfast before it gets cold."
Joe hesitated, looked at Will for the OK, then bolted inside.
Mr. Tucker was a gracious host even when the company was being paid to be there and he always made sure his employees were properly fed before starting the workday. It was the only reason Joe even agreed to come on this job.
"If you can guarantee me breakfast, I'll go," were his exact words when Will offered. And now he was taking full advantage of his perceived right. Several times Will had to kick him under the table to stop him from taking seconds or thirds.
After the meal they stepped out onto the deck overlooking the stacks of timber they were supposed to cut, split and stack.
"Well, there you go. Have at it." said Mr. Tucker as he lit his pipe.
There was something charming about an old farmer smoking his pipe that made Will smile.
"What? You're gonna sit up here and supervise," apparently Joe wasnt convinced of his charm. 	Will prodded Joe towards the stairs.
"You're Goddamn right im gonna supervise! That wood is the only thing that keeps me from freezing come winter. You think I'd let a knucklehead like you be responsible for my well being? Ha!" 	Joe had stopped listening and was already down the stairs cursing the old man with every foul word he could think of.
"Will, you're gonna watch him right? I have to go into town for awhile and I don't need him cutting his arm off or God knows what else while I'm gone. I can trust you right?"
Will could feel the weight in his words as they came out. I can trust you right? Will felt his pulse quicken as if this was the most important question he'd ever been asked.
"Of course. It'll be fine. No need to worry."
The words came out automatically.
"Will, can I tell you something?"
Will felt faint.
"I'm going through with it. I'm gonna sell this place. I'm not letting my son get his hands on it, the greedy bastard. It's too bad he's not more like you."
Several thoughts ran through Will's head.
Mr. Tucker looked up at the clouds roiling overhead and let out a low whistle.
"It's gonna get worse before it gets better. How was the road coming in?"
Will pondered the question and a small smile began to show at the corner of his mouth.
" A bit treacherous, just remember to take it slow."
He knew Mr. Tucker would appreciate the humor.

title: Aspect- A Short Story

question: What does the text say about Mr. Tucker?

answer: He's an old man living in the middle of nowhere. Despite being old, he's full of energy and works hard to modify the territory around his home and the house. When a project to build a road that would connect his house to Route 22 was canceled, he decided to build a road himself and did it. He's protective of his house and refused to sell his land despite many good offers before. He has a strange sense of humor, exemplified by the replica of his house on a hill at 1/6th the scale, giving a sense of deja-vu to visitors. He hired Joe and Will for some work, but he's a gracious host who prefers to make sure even his workers have a full stomach before work. He tells Will that he changed his mind about selling the land, preferring to make sure his seemingly estranged son doesn't get it. He likes Will and asks him to make sure the job gets done well despite Joe, who doesn't like the old man.

question: What does the text say about Will and Joe?

answer: Will and Joe seem to know each other well. Joe thinks Will works better without knowing too much about things. They are hired by Wilson Tucker, an old and eccentric man, who hired them before. Will respects the man's grit and hard work, but Joe doesn't like him. They drive to Mr. Tucker's house, listen to the radio a bit (Joe thinks the host is an idiot for thinking the Sox can win games without scoring), and almost die as Will barely manages to stop near a chasm 3-feet wide. They make it to Mr. Tucker's house, and Will greets the old man affably. While Joe and Mr. Tucker have a mild spat, Will keeps Joe in line. Mr. Tucker has some business to take care of, so he asks Will to watch over Joe before confessing that he's selling the land to make sure his ungrateful son doesn't get it.

question: What does the text say about how to build a road?


text:
“Bates,” my father’s voice whispered, the sound of his gruff tone made my eyes water with longing. I missed my home; I missed my head strong and slightly eccentric father. I felt a little crazy, hearing his voice amidst the silence and smiling into the ground. A sob chocked its way back down my throat, I would not cry, not here, not now. Not yet.

I felt something slide down my spine, like a thick piece of frozen flesh, burning as it reached the base of my vertebrae. I shivered in revulsion; my stomach began to churn and bubble, vomit convulsed up my esophagus, I tried to swallow it back down but ended up almost chocking on it. I was so tired of being awake, but I knew that if I closed my eyes I would scream. Every time they slid shut images of acid burned faces, rotted corpses, and the peeling meat of my friends, my men, swam up to meet me. The memories always surprised me and were always accompanied by a whimper trying to claw its way through my snow covered lips. It was like my body was working against me, trying to coax a sound from my caged mouth. Pieces of ice dug into my palms, I did not move away, I did not flinch, instead I relished in the pain. It was okay though, it reminded me that I was still alive and that I could still die. Death, it was a silent yet beautiful release. Well, not always.

I pushed away the memories of mustard gas and disembodied men, frantically snatching at happier memories of a sweeter time. Yet those precious and vulnerable moments seemed to have faded and burned to cinder, leaving my mind in soot and ash. Focus, my mind screamed, stop thinking! I wanted nothing more than to faint, to let my mind shut down and to float in oblivion. Blink, blink, blink; Images of my past, Images of my present, and assumptions of my future. I wished for an escape so I could turn off the past, turn off the images.

“Bates?” Robert’s voice sounded through the memories, cutting through them like a shard of ice.

“Yes, sir?” I rasped, my throat had constricted, my muscles were stiff, and my nerve endings were being devoured by tension.

“I’m going to roll over now. Onto my back. I don’t want anybody to else to move.”

“Yes, sir.” He must be crazy, my mind calculated, he doesn’t even know what’s out there. He doesn’t know what’s awaiting him. It’s safer like this. Safer to remain how we are. Safer, but stupid.

I could hear Robert rolling over, the crunch of the snow and the crackle of ice, as he shifted his body. Each sound vibrated through my head at maximum capacity. It was so loud I was sure that he would be shot and that his stupidity would get the rest of them discovered. I swallowed hard, tasting nothing but dread and exhaustion.

I heard a bird sing, my thoughts raced around my head like an out of control train, I couldn’t slow it down enough to gather them. It sang again, my muscles contracted, increasing the tension already radiating through my body. I was spooked. I cursed Captain Leather for giving a child command of my squad. For that was all Robert was, a child in the skin of a man.

“Sir?” I ask, hoping that there would be no answer.

“Don’t move, there’s somebody here.”

I did not reply I could not; all I could think about was how this child brought death unto us. I was so angry in the moment I thought I would go blind with rage. I wanted to drown him, suffocate him, and burn him all at once. Insanity was taking its hold over me, and I could do nothing but pray to stop it.

“Bates? Don’t be afraid. There’s only one and I don’t think he has a gun. Try rolling over and see what happens. I’ve got him covered,” said Robert.

I rolled over quickly. A German was watching Robert and Robert did not shoot. I looked to Robert, my gaze full of venom. *Traitor*, I wanted to shout, *why won’t you shoot! You’re a child, nothing but a whiny inexperienced child!*

My gaze wandered back to the German, he was closer than I expected. I saw him nod, but it might have just been my imagination.

My father’s voice was once again resonating within me, humming through my mind like a bell. *Get up*, it said. It seemed like hours before my mind could focus again, but once it cleared away the hazy grime, I realized the voice belonged to Robert, not my pa.

“Get up,” Robert muttered to me. “Stand right up. He isn’t going to shoot.”

I stood, “Now what?”

“Go to the top. Go the way we came. Just go. But go slowly. Don’t alarm him.”

I went around Robert. The mud was sticky and deep, pulling my legs under as if to draw me closer. It was harder than I expect, climbing up the face of the crater, shards of rock kept biting into my skin, drawing blood. My legs began to burn with effort, to long with no movement had taken its toll on my muscles. The siding was slick with ice and snow making handholds hard to find and even harder to grab. I pushed my muscles to the point of exhaustion but relief soon followed when I reached the top of the pit.

I looked over the side to see the German smiling at Robert, what an odd thing to do, my brain rambled. I turned my attention to Robert, who was standing, I waited for any sign of a command; he waved.

“I want everyone of you to go and join Bates. Don’t stop and don’t look back. Go as far as you can with your hands in the air, so he’ll know you’re not armed. Maybe he’s crazy – but he isn’t going to kill us,” Robert said.

I watched the four men stubble to the Lewis gun, by their limps I guessed that their legs had fallen asleep and they were now feeling the sensation of pins and needles.

Robert moved to the fifth man, rolling him onto his back. I could tell by Roberts face that the man was dead. Robert rolled him back into the mud. *What a proper goodbye for a solider*, I thought bitterly.

Our captain wandered to the edge of the water, crouching to look at the man who had broken both his legs. He was dead; it could have been from the gas or maybe the shock and pain of his breaks.

Robert turned his back on the bodies and the German, his face set to a grim expression. He began to climb; my eyes flickered to the German, watching him for any sign of movement. From the sounds Robert was making it seemed that he was having more trouble than the rest of us had, I wanted to look, but I did not dare take my eyes off the German. As I watched him I wondered why he was letting us get away, it was uncommon for an enemy to intentionally let it’s pray out of its clutches. Stupid even. I also wondered why Robert hadn’t shot him; yes the German was showing a bit of tolerance, but who knew how long that would last.

I glanced to Robert, seeing that he had about six more feet to go, my gaze focusing back on the German, who indecently was reaching for something black and shrouded with shadows.

“Sir!” I shouted, my heart hammering in my chest, my mind was screaming. He had a gun, and he was going to shoot our captain. No matter how much I distrusted the young lad, he was still our brother in arms.

It all happened so fast. Something exploded; the German gave a startled cry and was suddenly dead, his arms still reaching over the edge of the crater. The sound of Roberts gun shot was still resonating around the pit and worming its way within my heart. As Robert tried to scramble the rest of the ways up, he was clumsy,  I reached down to pull him up.

We fell back together, Robert on top of me. The warmth of his skin made me wish more for home. We stayed like that for what seemed like hours. Robert was shaking, his heart beating franticly against my chest. I held him tightly before he pulled away.

I watched him struggle with what he had just done, I watched him wipe the mud from his face -  gun still in hand - and put his face between his knees. I did nothing. There was nothing I could do, this was something that he would have to face on his own, we all make mistakes, and sometimes those mistakes lead to the loss of innocent lives.

Robert raised his field glasses and looked towards the German, his lips parted. I wondered what he was seeing. He crouched there for a minute, as unmoving as a statue.

The bird sang.

One long note descending: three that wavered on the brink of sadness.

Robert twitched. I realize in this moment that Robert was no longer the young and vicarious solider he had been hours ago. He had lost his child like essence.

The bird sand and sand and sang. Robert stood and walked away. I followed him and would follow him until the day I died. He was my commander and he was finally becoming a man.

title: [MF] 1 P.M

question: Summarize the waves of feelings Bates was experiencing as he lay down trying to avoid being detected by the enemy.

answer: Bates felt like crying as memories of his father flooded through him. He misses the man so much. He suddenly felt something slide down his spine. He shook in revulsion and almost vomited in disgust. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the faces of his fellow soldiers as rotting corpses. Bates told himself to focus. he forced himself to think on happier memories.

question: What reason did the German soldier have for not shooting?


text:
The Democratic presidential candidates met in Las Vegas for a primetime debate on CNN.

At the debate were former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, Vermont Sen. Bernie Sanders, former Maryland Gov. Martin O’Malley, former Virginia Sen. Jim Webb and former Rhode Island Gov. Lincoln Chafee.

The moderators were CNN anchors Anderson Cooper and Don Lemon, political correspondent Dana Bash and CNN en Espanol anchor Juan Carlos Lopez.

Here is a full transcript of what they said, courtesy of CNN.

ANDERSON COOPER, CNN ANCHOR: And good evening everyone. We are live at the Wynn Resort in Las Vegas for the CNN/Facebook Democratic Presidential Debate. Welcome.

(APPLAUSE)

The five major candidates are about to face off for the first time in a primary race that is a lot more competitive than many people had expected.

Welcome. I’m Anderson Cooper. Thanks for joining us. We’re just seconds away from introducing the candidates to viewers in the United States and watching right now around the world.

This debate is airing on CNN, CNN en Espanol, and CNN International. It’s also being broadcast on the Westwood One Radio Network. I’ll be the moderator tonight. I’ll also be joined in the questioning by my CNN colleagues, our chief political correspondent, Dana Bash; CNN en Espanol anchor Juan Carlos Lopez, and CNN anchor Don Lemon who will share questions from Democrats nationwide.

We’ve teamed up with Facebook to send a campaign camper around the country for the past three weeks. Thousands of people stepped inside to record their questions for the candidates on video. Millions more have weighed in on Facebook. Now it’s time to meet the candidates.

Joining us on stage, please welcome former Rhode Island Governor Lincoln Chafee.

(APPLAUSE)

Former Maryland Governor Martin O’Malley.

(APPLAUSE)

Former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton.

(APPLAUSE)

Senator Bernie Sanders of Vermont.

(APPLAUSE)

And former Senator Jim Webb of Virginia.

(APPLAUSE)

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Democratic candidates for president of the United States.

(APPLAUSE)

Now, everybody, please rise for our national anthem, performed by nine-time Grammy Award-winning singer-songwriter, Sheryl Crow.

(SINGING)

(APPLAUSE)

COOPER: I want to thank Sheryl Crow. The candidates are here. The crowd is certainly ready. The first Democratic debate will begin right after this.

(COMMERCIAL BREAK)

COOPER: There is certainly a lot of excitement in this room tonight, and no doubt around the country. We are back in the Wynn Resort in Las Vegas in the presidential battleground state of Nevada for the first Democratic debate of the 2016 campaign.

I’m Anderson Cooper. Thanks for joining us. We’ve already welcomed the candidates on stage. They are in place at their podiums. Before we dive into the issues, I want to quickly explain some of the groundrules tonight.

As the moderator, I’ll ask questions, followups and guide the discussion. I’ll be joined in the questioning by CNN’s Juan Carlos Lopez and Dana Bash, a well as Don Lemon who will share questions from Democrats around the country. Each candidate will get one minute to answer questions, and 30 seconds for followups and rebuttals. I’ll give candidates time to respond if they have been singled out for criticism.

Our viewers should know that we have lights that are visible to the candidates to warn them when their time is up.

I want the candidates to be able to introduce themselves to our audience. Each candidate will have two minutes to introduce themselves.

Let’s begin with Governor Chafee.

Governor?

FORMER GOV. LINCOLN CHAFEE, D-R.I.: Thank you, Anderson.

Thank you, CNN, and thank you Facebook for organizing this debate.

Not only will Americans be electing a new president next year, we also will be electing a world leader. Voters should assess the candidate’s experience, character and vision for the future as they make this important decision.

I’m the only one running for president that has been a mayor, a United States senator, and a governor. As mayor, I brought labor peace to my city and kept taxes down. I was reelected three times. As a senator, I earned a reputation for courageous votes against the Bush-Cheney tax cuts the favored the wealthy, against the tragedy of the Iraq war, for environmental stewardship, for protection of our civil liberties. I served on the Foreign Relations Committee and I chaired the Middle East Subcommittee for four years.

As governor, I came in at the depths of the recession and we turned my state around. Rhode Island had the biggest drop of the unemployment rate over my four budgets of all but one state. It happens to be Nevada, where we’re having this debate. I’m very proud that over my almost 30 years of public service, I have had no scandals. I’ve always been honest. I have the courage to take the long-term view, and I’ve shown good judgment. I have high ethical standards.

As we look to the future, I want to address the income inequality, close the gap between the haves and the have-nots. I want to address climate change, a real threat to our planet. And I believe in prosperity through peace. I want to end these wars.

I look forward to the discussion ahead.

Thank you (APPLAUSE)

COOPER: Thank you very much, Governor.

(APPLAUSE)

Senator Webb, you have two minutes.

FORMER SEN. JIM WEBB, D-VA.: Thank you.

You know, people are disgusted with the way that money has corrupted our political process, intimidating incumbents and empowering Wall Street every day, the turnstile government that we see, and also the power of the financial sector in both parties.

WEBB: They’re looking for a leader who understands how the system works, who has not been coopted by it, and also has a proven record of accomplishing different things. I have a record of working across the political aisle. I’ve also spent more than half of my professional life away from politics in the independent world of being an author, a journalist, and a sole proprietor.

In government service, I’ve fought and bled for our country in Vietnam as a Marine. I spent years as Assistant Secretary of Defense, Secretary of the Navy — in the Reagan administration.

In the senate, I spoke about economic fairness and social justice from day one. I also wrote and passed the best piece of veterans education legislation in history, the Post 9/11 G.I. Bill. I brought criminal justice reform out of the political shadows and into the national discussion. I led what later became called the Strategic Pivot to Asia two years before President Obama was elected.

I know where my loyalties are.

My mother grew up in the poverty of east Arkansas chopping cotton, picking strawberries. Three of her seven siblings died in childhood. My wife, Hong, came to this country as a refugee from war torn Vietnam — learned English, a language that was not spoken at home, and earned her way into Cornell Law School. I have five daughters. Amy works with disabled veterans, Sarah is an emergency room nurse, Julia is a massage therapist, Emily and Georgia are still in school. My son Jim fought as an infantry Marine on the bloody streets of Ramadi.

You may be sure that in a Webb administration, the highest priority will be the working people who every day go out and make this country stronger at home, and who give us the right reputation and security overseas under a common sense foreign policy.

(CHEERING) (APPLAUSE)

COOPER: Governor O’Malley, you have two minutes.

FORMER GOV. MARTIN O’MALLEY, D-MD.: My name is Martin O’Malley, former Mayor of Baltimore, former governor of Maryland, a life long democrat, and most importantly, a husband, and a father.

My wife Katie and I have four great kids, Grace, and Tara, and William and Jack. And, like you, there is nothing we wouldn’t do to give them healthier and better lives. There are some things that I have learned to do better in life than others. And, after 15 years of executive experience, I have learned how to be an effective leader.

Whether it was raising the minimum wage, making our public schools the best in America, passing marriage equality, the DREAM Act, and comprehensive gun safety legislation, I have learned how to get things done because I am very clear about my principals.

Thanks to President Obama, our country has come a long way since the Wall Street crash of 2008. Our country’s doing better, we are creating jobs again. But we elected a president, not a magician, and there is urgent work that needs to be done right now. For there is a — deep injustice, an economic injustice that threatens to tear our country apart, and it will not solve itself. Injustice does not solve itself.

What I’m talking about is this, our middle class is shrinking. Our poor families are becoming poorer, and 70 percent of us are earning the same, or less than we were 12 years ago. We need new leadership, and we need action. The sort of action that will actually make wages go up again for all American families.

Our economy isn’t money, it’s people. It’s all of our people, and so we must invest in our country, and the potential of our kids to make college a debt free option for all of our families, instead of settling our kids with a lifetime of crushing debt.

And, we must square our shoulders to the great challenge of climate change and make this threat our opportunity. The future is what we make of it. We are all in this together. And, the question in this election is whether you and I still have the ability to give our kids a better future. I believe we do, that is why I am running for president, and I need your help.

Thank you.

(APPLAUSE)

COOPER: Governor O’Malley, thank you very much. Senator Sanders.

SEN. BERNARD SANDERS, I-VT.: Anderson, thank you very much. I think most Americans understand that our country today faces a series of unprecedented crises. The middle class of this country for the last 40 years has been disappearing. Millions of Americans are working longer hours for lower wages, and yet almost all of the new income and wealth being created is going to the top one percent.

As a result of this disastrous Citizens United Supreme Court decision, our campaign finance system is corrupt and is undermining American democracy. Millionaires and billionaires are pouring unbelievable sums of money into the political process in order to fund super PACs and to elect candidates who represent their interests, not the interests of working people.

Today, the scientific community is virtually unanimous: climate change is real, it is caused by human activity, and we have a moral responsibility to transform our energy system away from fossil fuel to energy efficiency and sustainable energy and leave this planet a habitable planet for our children and our grandchildren.

Today in America, we have more people in jail than any other country on Earth. African-American youth unemployment is 51 percent. Hispanic youth unemployment is 36 percent. It seems to me that instead of building more jails and providing more incarceration, maybe — just maybe — we should be putting money into education and jobs for our kids.

(APPLAUSE)

What this campaign is about is whether we can mobilize our people to take back our government from a handful of billionaires and create the vibrant democracy we know we can and should have. Thank you.

(APPLAUSE)

COOPER: Secretary Clinton?

FORMER SECRETARY OF STATE HILLARY RODHAM CLINTON: Well, thank you, and thanks to everyone for hosting this first of the Democratic debates.

I’m Hillary Clinton. I have been proud and privileged to serve as first lady, as a senator from New York, and as secretary of state. I’m the granddaughter of a factory worker and the grandmother of a wonderful one-year-old child. And every day, I think about what we need to do to make sure that opportunity is available not just for her, but for all of our children. I have spent a very long time — my entire adult life — looking for ways to even the odds to help people have a chance to get ahead, and, in particular, to find the ways for each child to live up to his or her God-given potential.

I’ve traveled across our country over the last months listening and learning, and I’ve put forward specific plans about how we’re going to create more good-paying jobs: by investing in infrastructure and clean energy, by making it possible once again to invest in science and research, and taking the opportunity posed by climate change to grow our economy.

At the center of my campaign is how we’re going to raise wages. Yes, of course, raise the minimum wage, but we have to do so much more, including finding ways so that companies share profits with the workers who helped to make them.

And then we have to figure out how we’re going to make the tax system a fairer one. Right now, the wealthy pay too little and the middle class pays too much. So I have specific recommendations about how we’re going to close those loopholes, make it clear that the wealthy will have to pay their fair share, and have a series of tax cuts for middle-class families.

And I want to do more to help us balance family and work. I believe in equal pay for equal work for women, but I also believe it’s about time we had paid family leave for American families and join the rest of the world.

(APPLAUSE)

During the course of the evening tonight, I’ll have a chance to lay out all of my plans and the work that I’ve done behind them. But for me, this is about bringing our country together again. And I will do everything I can to heal the divides — the divides economically, because there’s too much inequality; the racial divides; the continuing discrimination against the LGBT community — so that we work together and, yes, finally, fathers will be able to say to their daughters, you, too, can grow up to be president.

(APPLAUSE)

COOPER: Thank you, all. It is time to start the debate.

Are you all ready?

(APPLAUSE)

All right. Let’s begin. We’re going to be discussing a lot of the issues, many of the issues, important issues that you have brought up. But I want to begin with concerns that voters have about each of the candidates here on this stage that they have about each of you.

Secretary Clinton, I want to start with you. Plenty of politicians evolve on issues, but even some Democrats believe you change your positions based on political expediency.

You were against same-sex marriage. Now you’re for it. You defended President Obama’s immigration policies. Now you say they’re too harsh. You supported his trade deal dozen of times. You even called it the “gold standard”. Now, suddenly, last week, you’re against it.

Will you say anything to get elected?

CLINTON: Well, actually, I have been very consistent. Over the course of my

question: What does the text say about Lincoln Chafee?

answer: Lincoln Chafee is one of five participants in a debate between Democratic Party Presidential candidates for the 2016 campaign, a former governor of Rhode Island. He introduces himself with a heavy emphasis on his past experiences as a mayor, senator, and governor, mentioning that a world leader will be chosen, not just the US President. He mentions how he helped the economy, kept the taxes low, was against the tax cuts for the wealthy and the Iraq war. He claims high ethical standards, saying he wants to address income inequality and climate change.

question: What does the text say about former senator Jim Webb?

answer: Jim Webb is one of five participants in a debate between Democratic Party Presidential candidates for the 2016 campaign. Jim Webb begins with how detestable it is that money has corrupted the political process so much. He claims to be free of corruption with a track record of different accomplishments and working across the political aisle. Half of his life was free of politics; he was an author, journalist, and proprietor. He's a Vietnam veteran born to a working-class family, and he wants to focus on social justice and economic fairness.

question: What does the text say about former Governor O'Malley?

answer: Martin O'Malley is one of five participants in a debate between Democratic Party Presidential candidates for the 2016 campaign, former Mayor of Baltimore, and former governor of Maryland. He starts his introduction, mentioning his family and executive experience, which thought him how to be a leader. He mentions his successes in raising the minimum wage, bettering marriage equality and gun safety, and the DREAM act. He wants to solve social injustice as a president and points out the middle class is shrinking in America. He wants the wages to go up. He insists that the economy isn't about money but people, lamenting that college debt is crippling a lot of families. He wants to give children a better future as a President.

question: What does the text say about Senator Bernard Sanders?

answer: Senator Sanders is one of five participants in a debate between Democratic Party Presidential candidates for the 2016 campaign. He begins his introduction with how the middle class is disappearing and how all the new income and wealth is going to the richest 1%. He calls the Citizens United Supreme Court decision a disaster that corrupted the campaign finance system, undermining democracy. He wants to tackle climate change and prioritize education and employment for minorities instead of building more jails. He wants to take the government back from billionaires.

question: What does the text say about Hillary Clinton?

answer: Hillary Clinton is one of five participants in a debate between Democratic Party Presidential candidates for the 2016 campaign, and she's a former secretary of state. She starts by mentioning how she's the granddaughter of a factory worker and a grandmother of one year. She wants to create more good-paying jobs, invest in infrastructure and clean energy, and combat climate change. She sees raising wages as the core of her campaign. Further, she thinks the wealthy pay too little tax and the middle class too much. Finally, she wants to promote a balance between family and work and to do everything she can to heal divides.

question: What does the text say about Joe Biden?

question: What are the unique aspects of each candidate?

answer: Hillary Clinton is the only candidate who mentions the LGBT community in her introductory speech. Sanders is the only one who mentions the campaign finance system and the overabundance of jails in the US. Jim Webb talks about his relation to war veterans.

question: What are the common points between candidates?

answer: Social justice and economic inequality are common threads among the participants. The shrinking middle class and climate change are also shared concerns between the candidates.


text:
_(Photos by Anna Y. Loshkin)_

It's barely nine in the morning and the sound of vuvuzelas fills the air. Shirtless young men have already had their first shot of the day, and the ones who haven't line up, bleary-eyed, at the convenience store for a fresh pack of cigarettes or a bottle of _rakija_, the plum brandy that flows liberally through this town. This is Serbia's famous Guča Trumpet Festival, a gathering of trumpet players, gypsy orchestras, Balkan music lovers, and young _Chetniks_—the latest embodiment of Serbian nationalism.

Among a sea of slogans like "Save water, drink beer" and "A blow job is better than no job," one T-shirt stands out—a portrait of former president Slobodan Milošević, "Your army waits for you" is written under his pensive face. Milošević is still infamous in Serbia for his role in the ethnic cleansing that took place in the 1990s during the Yugoslav Wars. Another T-shirt featuring his likeness reads, "You know, there are worse people than me." These are not ironic. People stroll around town with shirts announcing, "Thank God I'm a Serb," "Serbian Chetniks," and "Country of champions.” Some wear black shirts with a skull and crossbones, with the words "Faith in God - Freedom or death" in Church Slavonic script, with army-green hats adorned with the two-headed eagle topped by a royal crown. Welcome to Chetnik country.

Every year in August, several hundred thousand people descend upon Guča, a sleepy village of 3,000 in Central Serbia. Guča, proclaimed "Europe's biggest, baddest summer music festival,” in the _Guardian_, attracts internationally known Balkan acts and a sizable portion of Western European attendees. But during this weeklong turbo-folk party, foreigners either don't notice the thinly veiled nationalism, or are too drunk to care.

[]

It started out innocently enough in 1962. A bunch of trumpeters got together for a jam session in Guča, a bucolic village with a backdrop of lush green hills, mineral water springs and wildflowers in the Dragacevo region a few hours southwest of Belgrade. The "benevolent dictator" Tito was president, and the Croats, Montenegrins, Albanians Kosovars, Slovenes, Macedonians, Serbs, and Bosniaks had united into a heterogeneous nation called Yugoslavia.

Today everything is different. Following the bloody wars of the 1990s, Yugoslavia splintered into seven countries. In 2001, a brief wave of democracy led to the resignation of Milošević and election of opposition leader Zoran Djindjic. Milošević ended up on trial for war crimes in The Hague. Only two years later, Djindjic was assassinated, and, with him, the hope of progress and peaceful coexistence with Serbia's neighbors died.

Since the election of Serbian nationalist president Tomislav Nikolić this May, many fear that Serbia's new path is not towards EU membership but instead a regression to the ethnic conflict that caused years of bloodshed. The recent appointment of Prime Minister Ivica Dačić has caused unease due to his close ties with Milošević.

The mood in Guča fits in with Serbia’s current political landscape. "There is a difference between being a patriot and being a nationalist. Most of young people here don't know the difference and it often grows to be close to racism," says Margita, a 19-year old from a small town in the region. Indeed, there is a kind of innocence in the faces of the young guys and girls who proudly sing about Serbia's greatness, wearing hats with Chetnik regalia, their bodies draped with the Serbian flag. They all show the three-fingered salute: the thumb, index and middle finger out, and the last two bent in. Ostensibly this stands for the holy trinity—the father, the son, and the Holy Spirit. As with many things in the former Yugoslavia, the salute is controversial. Bosniaks and Croats find it offensive, a provocation even, as it was used by the same Serbian army that ruthlessly murdered their people. In Guča, people flash it to passersby, cameras, and each other. Just like the cross that hangs around people's necks, it has become a normalized symbol of Serbian pride.

Since the 90s, Chetnik iconography has become synonymous with Serbian nationalism. The movement itself is linked to the Serb-inflicted massacres, rape, and torture of the Yugoslav wars. In testimony at The Hague about the ethnic cleansing that took place during the wars, victims refer to the Serbian forces as Chetniks. One Muslim woman's testimony reads: "On the 25th of May the Chetniks attacked our village, which was a Muslim village, and by the 31st of May all the men from the village were taken to a concentration camp. … They killed en masse, pillaged and burnt our houses, detained women, elderly and children and burnt them alive."

[]

Chetniks, which loosely translates as militia, started as a monarchist guerrilla force in the early 20th century. They took up arms as a royalist resistance group after the ouster of the royal family in World War II, at times collaborating with the Partisans and at times with the Axis Powers, fighting on the side of the Nazis. Just after World War II, as Josip Broz Tito took the reigns on  Yugoslavia’s Communist government, Chetnik leader Draza Mihailovic was found guilty of treason and executed.

For over 30 years Tito sustained a delicate balance in Yugoslavia and with allies on both sides of the Iron Curtain. After his death in 1980, nationalist sentiment began to escalate. In his 1992 book _The Fall of Yugoslavia_ Balkan expert Misha Glenny writes: "The revival of the Serb nationalists, the Chetniks, has been one of the most hideous and frightening aspects of the collapse of communism in Serbia and Yugoslavia. This breed, which finds nurture in the perpetration of unspeakable acts of brutality, encapsulates all that is irrational and unacceptable in Balkan society."

Slobodan Milošević fanned the flames of religious and ethnic hatred in his 1989 speech at the 600-year anniversary of the Battle of Kosovo. This is where Serbian prince Tsar Lazar fought against the Ottomans in 1389 and died a hero. Despite Serbia's defeat and the subsequent 500 years under Ottoman and later Austrian rule, the location is considered holy. It's the birthplace of Serbian identity; Tzar Lazar is regarded as a martyr for his people.

At Guča, young people from the countryside and beyond gather to listen to the call of the trumpet, dance to traditional folk songs, and shout slogans about Greater Serbia. Bellicose cries of "Kosovo will always be ours!" resonate from campgrounds, parking lots and groups gathered under the town's Golden Trumpet Player statue in the main square.

I meet Jovan and his young son outside of Guča’s Center for Culture, where they were taking a respite from the heat and crowds. His son sat next to him, playing with a toy AK-47.  "I've been to the US. I liked Miami but I don't like your politics," he shouts over the din of a religious concert a few meters away. Serbian attacks on ethnic Albanians in Kosovo led to the US-backed NATO bombing of Belgrade in 1999. Even though the sanctions were lifted in 2005, anti-Western sentiment is still strong. He shows his tattoos to me—a giant one of Tsar Lazar fills most of his right shoulder and bicep, and another covering his back, depicting the Kosovo Maiden comforting a dying soldier after the battle. The tattoo of this scene, taken from the eponymous Serbian epic poem, is one of many I will see in Guča. In Jovan's tattoo, Lazar is on a horse holding a shield which sports Serbia's coat of arms with its embellished 4 C's: Само Слога Србина Спасава – Only Unity Saves the Serbs. The same coat of arms decorates the Serbian flag.

[]

From high on a hill I watch the young men below lather themselves up into a frenzy with their chants about Serbia's greatness. The singing has been going on for close to an hour, nurtured by beer and a lively audience. Farther down the road, traditional folk music is blasting from a van—a departure from the ubiquitous turbo-folk. A group of men have set up camp around the van, in a coveted corner of the field, where everyone who passes by will hear their music. Miroslav, the leader of the group, invites me for a beer and tells me that they have travelled from a Serbian stronghold in Kosovo especially for the festival.

It's early afternoon and despite the sour expression on the face of one gentleman with a bandaged head and a black eye, the party is in full swing. The men are swaying to the music, and one of them dances on the roof of the van. He's shirtless, a little drunk, and a thick chain with a cross dangles from his neck. Miroslav lectures in passable English, "America doesn't understand the Albanian threat. They are terrorists, like in Iraq. My brother was killed in the war there. Kosovo is Serbian!" He adds, "The Albanians are organ traffickers."

Several dozen trumpet orchestras play and compete for prizes at Guča, but it’s mostly the gypsy ‘orkestars’ who roam the town’s streets, serenading the masses for tips in bars and restaurants. Ironically, these same gypsy bands also play nationalistic songs for an eager audience. In another twist, the traditional Jewish melody “Hava Nagila” has become a Guča anthem of sorts, played countless times alongside Goran Bregović's “Kalashnikov” and “Gas Gas.”

"Guča is a special week,” says Miroslava, a French-Serbian beauty who has been dating a trumpet player from a Gypsy band since last year. She hasn't told her family yet, and neither has he. "We are like Romeo and Juliet. It's not acceptable for me to be with a Gypsy, or for him to marry a Serb."

Since the collapse of Yugoslavia, Serbs have embraced the glory of their monarchist past. Despite losing all four wars Serbia has started since 1990, the obsession with a Greater Serbia for the Serbs persists almost 15 years later. "In Serbia, it's all about choosing sides," Margita tells me.

My friends in Belgrade say that turbo-folk loving nationalists go to Guča and civilized people go to Niš, a nearby town where the international jazz festival is held around the same time. In this fragmented region with a mixed ethnic population, such a divide represents a real threat to stability. Do the displays of nationalism at Guča arise from the heady atmosphere and a desire to belong? Perhaps. It could just be a passing phase for young people. But this youthful transgression has been legitimized by the new Serbian government.

question: What are some of the nationalist undercurrents at the music festival?

answer: Many of the attendees are young people who want to be Chetniks, members of hyper-nationalist Serbian militias. They use a three-fingered salute to each other that was used to brutalize Bosnians and Croats. Many of them wear shirts with slogans, some of them with the images of Slobodan Milosevic on them. Many of the attendees also tell the reporters that Kosovo must be theirs, and that Albanians are terrorists. The overall attitude is one of Serbian nationalism, and, the author notes, although it may seem like youthful rebellion, it is sanctioned by the Serbian government.

question: What is the relationship of Serbia's government to Milosevic?

answer: While Serbia has been attempting to throw off the dictator and take on Democracy for some time, he still has an influence on the country. In 2001 he resigned, but two years later the opposition leader was assassinated. There is currently a prime minister in power with ties to Milosevic.


text:
The grey sky wept heavy tears as an old man creeps along a smooth marble path, clutching his coat tightly with white knuckles to keep the frosted wind from stealing it. His head hung low against the rain, joints aching and lungs burning from the cold air, he walks on under the gaze of the silent marble guardians that stand all around.  They are placed in concentric ranks, evenly spaced and facing inwards, ever vigilant. There are thousands of them; tens of thousands even, covering an area miles wide. They are spaced evenly throughout their rings with a gap just wide enough for two people to slip in between with twice that distance between each layer. Small engraved platinum plaques rest at the base of each, meticulously produced and maintained.

At the center is an open space dominated by a large sphere which floats reverently above the ground. The Earth in all its glory, with its greens, blues, and browns – meticulously detailed. White clouds swirl and dance in real time in a never ending show that matches reality. If an observer looks closely, they see small ripples throughout the vast blue oceans as the moon engages in its eternal struggle with the tides. Yellow points of civilization dot the night side, ever struggling against the darkness which creeps steadily west. Giant black scars and craters run along its surface, an eternal reminder of events not long passed.

Once in awhile the old man sees another like himself, walking solemnly through this holiest of places. He places a hand onto the cold stone of a statue to steady himself as a strong gust smashes into his fragile frame. He pulls back his hand as if bitten, a numbness spreading throughout his soul. As he continues forward he looks into the faces around him even as the rain soaks his face. He doesn’t notice as it slips down his coat, and doesn’t care as the cold steals the feeling from his skin. He is beyond knowing discomfort. It has been many months since he felt.

Each face is alive with hand crafted detail down to the very pores of the shining stone skin. Their expressions are serious yet hopeful, sad but inspiring. They stand life sized and uniformed, medals and ribbons adorning their chests. Over each stone heart is a small pin with the shape and detail of the Earth. Had they not been made of lifeless stone, each likeness could be mistaken for a living being. They are the holiest relics of the human race, in a place that has become a religious site that has no priests and belongs to no church. They stand at attention in eternal watch over the planet in their midst and the pilgrims who walk through their home.

As the old man draws nearer to his destination he slows his all ready careful pace to the barest of movements. He has entered the space of his nightmares, the place he visits each night in sleep and each day in life. It is a familiar place, one he has navigated through hundreds of times in the few short months since its completion. It has become routine in a sense. His path is always the same; the same stones, the same steps, the same faces, the same emptiness.

He stops at each monument and memorizes every face before reading the plaque under it. Each one is long since engraved in his mind. They are his link to the past, to better times before.  Some of the names he knows from the old letters. They are his most cherished possessions and the only thing of value he has. He falls asleep each night with a stack of them in his bed, only escaping into the embrace of sleep when he is too tired to remain awake any longer.

After a time that may have been as long as hours or as short as minutes, the old man arrives at what has become both his hell and his salvation. It is a statue of a young woman, so perfectly detailed that the sight of it tears through his soul. He stares at her face and struggles to look away. The plaque at her feet tells only the barest of stories; that she was an officer; that she served all of humanity; that she died protecting her home. That she will be forever remembered. She has a face the old man is intimately familiar with. Her name is the same as his.

He remembers how it all started. How smart and happy and full of life she was. How she glowed and seemed to brighten a room just by being present. How he always pushed her to strive for more, to live up to her full potential. How he had wanted a better life for her than he had ever had for himself. How she had applied on an off chance and been accepted into the program, and how she had gone with his blessing and his encouragement. How she had written every day after she left, and how utterly proud he was. How she was his only child.

He remembers too how it all ended. How the Earth had been decimated. How she had been called up. He watched the live video as it all unfolded, remembers how three billion voices screamed as one when they were victorious. He remembers how none of those thousands of Earth’s children who had left ever came back. He remembers the guilt and the pain so heavy it crushed the air from his lungs.

Amidst the howling wind, he trembles violently and falls to his knees. The rain washes the tears from his face as he sobs uncontrollably. The old man curls up at the feet of his life and waits to die.

title: Pilgrim

question: Summarize the old man's daily routine.

answer: The old man would walk slowly with his head hung low under the gaze of over ten thousand marble sculptures that are erected all over the place. He would walk towards the center of the structure where he gazes at each sculpture, memorizing each face, each one engraved in his mind. He knew some of them, they were links to a life long gone. He always stops at the statue of a woman who shares the same surname as his. The old man remembered her when she was full of life and strove to be the best... just like he always encouraged her to be.

question: Who was the enemy the old man's daughter fought against?


text:
Sherry Masood
Meeting a Stranger
Tripping and Finding a Dollar
	The bay always makes the sunset a much bigger event. It’s like you’ll miss it twice, once for the reflection, once for itself. A man is leaning over the bridge, contemplative. The bridge is bustling and honks are as common as laughs. Couples walk hand in hand and bicyclists fly past in their separate lane. An Asian family passes by the man. The mother leads the family, looking at her surroundings for threats against her children. A scowl painted on both of the parents faces; you can tell it’s been a stressful day. The first three members of the family of four walk past the man without skipping a beat, but a little boy with a short black mop on top of his head pulling up the rear stops to stare. The man turns to stare. For a few seconds they analyze each other, imaging life on the other side. “Kenji! Pali Pali!” The boy reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a piece of chocolate. “Here, this’ll make you feel better; it’s what my Appa gives me when I’m sad.” The man smiles for the first time in what seems like his life and pats the child on his head as a worried mother grows an impatient look on her face. “Run along now”.
	The sun’s golden lining disappears over the coast line leaving behind a dark purple afterglow. It’s one of those dawns that has the moon coming early to say goodbye to the sunlight- a full moon, he’s been waiting.  In what seems like minutes to the man, dawn turns to pure night and people file off of the bridge. Each car passing by has a more significant impact on the near silence of salty waves and the low whistle of the breeze. He wasn’t on Earth time anymore. Time is like a balloon- the more you fill it, the heavier it becomes. This particular balloon was filled with just the very basics: the night air, starlit darkness on a rippled reflection, and *thump*,*thump*. A new sound emerged- the sound of concrete being slapped by the sole of a boot. A Hispanic man, a stranger looking to be in his early 40’s emerges out of the darkness. Shaggy brown hair lies messily atop a wise looking face, empathetic grey eyes seem to stare into the man’s soul. The stranger stands maybe five feet from the man and leans over the hanging of the grey bridge. “Do you know what serendipity is?” asks the stranger. “Yeah… kinda”. “It’s like a happy accident”, the stranger explains. “Like tripping and finding a dollar?” “Yeah… kinda.”
	The two men, one quite older than the other, stand side by side as if swallowed whole by the bright white gem. “Ya know, I saw you here last week, and again two nights ago” the stranger said. Silence responds. “Are you not sure about it? Or were you waiting for something?” The man looks at the stranger, then at the moon, gesturing with his chin. “I see”.
The stranger pulls out a flask. “Do you have something you can use as a cup?” he asks the man. The man looks down and thinks. He reaches in the inside of his coat and pulls out a mint container. “There’s some left, want any?” he asks the stranger. “I’m about to drink liquor”.
“Oh… Right”, the man empties the mints into the bay.
	The stranger pours the man a shots worth of amber, he asks, “What do we toast to?” “How about to the liquor?” “To the liquor!!” exclaimed the stranger as they tip their vessels together. Down the hatch the shots of gasoline go. “Ya know, I kinda hate whiskey but right now, this is all right” said the man. “It’s an acquired taste. Let’s get you on your way”. Two more shots poured, two more warm stomachs, two happy brains. *Braaaawaarooop*, the stranger lets out a devastating belch, the man responds with his own, less powerful, but nonetheless impressive, belch- the sounds of solidarity in the night. Two piss streams go into the bay. The darkest part of the night has already passed.
	“So what is it anyway?” the stranger turns and asks inquisitively. “What’s all gone so wrong?”
The man starred at his own two feet. “Where do you want me to start?” he looks down at the strangers’ feet.  “I’ve just moved to this city and my whole worlds back on the other side of the country probably falling in love without me. My family doesn’t give a damn about me and they don’t even notice I’m gone most of the night. The one thing that cared about me as much as I cared about it, my dog, was just put down for being a potential killer. My whole fucking life has been swept up from under my feet and now I’m having drinks with a stranger on a bridge well past midnight in a town I know nothing about...” the man sounded like he’d wrung out the last of the words he could manage for the moment. Turning with sparkly moonlit eyes and a manic kind of smile he asks, “So, how’s that?” The stranger looks back alarmed and sorry, “Listen I-*pop*…. *pop* *pop*.
	“Those sounded just like suppressed .45 rounds!” the man exclaims as they both turn to face the west entrance to the bridge. They start running, pounding against the steelwork. As they approach the entrance they see two shadowy figures running quite a distance away; turning into an abandoned side street. They were running from the scene they had left. The man and the stranger approached the first café adjacent to the bridge and found themselves in a horrific scene. A sprawl of spilled out purse objects: lipstick, lotto tickets, napkins, a cleaned out wallet. It was all fallen in a trail leading up to a woman’s hands-pale and relaxed. A pool of dark blood was collecting under her abdomen; a stream began flowing across covering her face down figure, dying the tips of her straight black hair. The blood was approaching her other hand which was clutched onto tight by a smaller hand.  A sudden rustle caught both men off guard and they turned to see a small child clutching his leg, a quiet terror erupting from his eyes. His mouth was open like he was screaming but hardly any sound could be heard. “Oh, fuck” said both men, one taking a step back, the other shocked frozen. This small boy, no older than 8 had a hole going through his entire left thigh, past the muscle and bone, and all the way through to the other side. The man kneels down and holds the boys hand, “Can you hear me? You’re going to be okay. We’re going to get help and you’re going to be okay.” The boy, still looking as if he was screaming, shook his head yes as tears glided across his face. “I don’t understand it, why can’t he speak?” asked the stranger. “He’s… he’s a- a mute.” said the man. “We’ve got to get him to a hospital, is there one close by?” “Only a block away on Grant” said the stranger “There’s a Sutter.” The man gently as possible placed one arm under the boy’s jeans, damp and warm from the blood and the other on the top of his back and lifted the boy up. “Let’s go”. “Wait. I need to call the police and wait for them here. You take the boy.” The man looked at the stranger firm in the eye and nodded, “Okay”.
	The boy had been in the E.R. for three hours now. The sun had risen. The police had come to gather information. He had none for them. They told him the woman couldn’t be identified. There was nothing to go off of. They didn’t mention the stranger so neither did he. He starred at his own two feet and thought about if the boy would ever be able to walk again. It looked bad. He knew he didn’t have to stay. The operators room swung open and an older doctor came through, “You must be Jack?” he asked. “How is he?” “Well we were able to save the leg.” “Oh thank god” Jack said, exhaling relief. “But the boy is still in no condition to walk. It’s still too early to tell when that’ll approve but it’s safe to say he will recover.” “That’s such a relief doctor, thank you so much.” “I think if there’s someone that boy should be thanking, it’s you Jack. You know I bet he’s been wondering about you. I’d like him to rest some more but you can come visit him in an hour or so if you’d like.” “Thank you doctor.”
	Jack went into the chair and slept for the first time in almost two days.
	“Hey”
The boy was lying in the hospital bed with a cotton leg and sad eyes that looked straight into and out of Jack. “I know this must be horrible for you.” The boy raised his arm and ushered Jack to come closer. The boy had something clutched in his hand. Jack approached him and raised his hand. The boy wrapped both hands around Jack’s hand and held on. Jack began to tear up as he felt something small and cold put into his hand. The boy closed Jack’s hand around the golden ring that had once belonged to his mother’s right hand. He had been holding it this whole time.

title: Tripping and Finding a Dollar

question: Summarize the man's conflict.

answer: The man tells the stranger about how he is unhappy with his life. He's moved across the country to a city he knows nothing about, and feels like his whole world is back on the other side of the county falling in love without him. He believes his family doesn't care about him or even notice when he's gone. The only thing that cared about him was his dog, but he had to be put down. He feels his whole life has been swept out from under his feet to the point that he is now having drinks with a stranger on a bridge past midnight.

question: What does the text say about the concept of time?

answer: To the man, it only seems like dawn turns to pure night in a matter of minutes. It could have taken longer than that. The man no longer feels like he's on Earth time as he watches it go from day to night. The story describes time as a balloon - the more you fill it, the heavier it becomes. The time balloon the man is experiencing is filled with night air, starlit darkness, and the sounds of feet thumping.

question: Summarize the man's interactions with the Hispanic stranger.

answer: The Hispanic stranger introduces himself to the man by asking him if he knows what serendipity is. The stranger notes that he's seen the man a few times on the bridge and seems to imply that he has wondered if the man was thinking of jumping off the bridge. The two men end up drinking some liquor together, and the man tells the stranger about what's wrong in his life. Before the stranger can reply, they hear gunshots. The two go to the source, and find a woman who has been robbed and killed. Her young son has also been shot. They decide to take the boy to the hospital, but the stranger realizes he should stay and call the police. They go their separate ways from here.

question: Summarize a shocking moment in the story.

answer: When the man is talking to the stranger, they hear the sounds of gunshots. They rush to find the source, and see two shadowy figures running away. They discover a woman who's been seemingly robbed and shot. She's dead, and her young son has been shot right through his thigh.

question: What does the text say about the man's wife?