text:
[dreamstime_l_13528992]I was having a chat with my 19-year-old sister a couple of days ago. In the midst of the usual gossip, she told me she got a message from a guy, telling her he broke his arm and wants my sister to come over to help him. She then went on to explain to me that the guy has been hitting on her for months now so it was obvious this was his ‘genius’ plans to get her to come over.

This got me thinking about how far men have gone to get the nookie. I mean, of course there is the “just the tip” guy. I am almost sure all women have encountered this guy at least once. You know the one. He goes, “please baby, just the tip, I won’t go in all the way, please naaaaw.” Yeah, like the reason I said ‘no’ is because I am completely terrified of the shaft.

I once went over to this other dude’s place. Let’s call him Jamal. He dined me, we some laughs, then about an hour into our date, he began the groping n’ grabbing. After making it clear that nothing was going to happen, he clutched his stomach, moaning in pain, while trying to explain to me that he had a severe case of blue balls. Overdramatic much?

Then there was Deji. He came over to my hostel once, around noon. He did the groping thing, but eventually left around 3:00pm. Only for him to come back at about 6:30pm, saying he could not find a bus home. Apparently he has been at the bus stop for over 3 hours and now he is requesting to spend the night with me. I instantly kicked him out, telling him he would be better off sleeping at the bus stop. Till date, I have no idea where the dude was at for 3 hours, strategizing his get-the-nookie scheme.

Bayo was the most extreme of all though. We were at my hostel once, hanging out as usual. After sharing a few kisses, he went on to tell me he was impotent and that he had never had an erection. I was shocked, but I sort of felt safe after that. I mean, if he can’t get it up, nothing was gonna happen, right? Only for him to have an unmistakable boner a few minutes into our make out session. With wide eyes and an awestruck smile, he goes, “this has never happened before. There must be something about you. Wow!”

I kid you not, it was the weirdest evening I ever experience. I almost fell for it too, until it occurred to me that this sounds very creepy. I would not want an erection that came out of nowhere after he spent up to 25 years not getting one.

It was a few weeks later that I found out that this was a pretty popular line among guys. It makes sense if you think about it. A guy tells you that and you feel a bit more relaxed because he is suddenly unthreatening. Then he tells you about the mystery erection and you feel like a total sex kitten thinking you got some magic skills. This will make you want to prove to him how extremely sexy and hot you are, and BOOM! Legs apart, homeboy is sliding in happily.

While working on this piece, I decided to ask my male buddies how far they have gone to get in a woman’s panties. Dimeji told me of the day he visited a female friend. Sometime in the evening, she agreed to let him spend the night but insisted that he was not getting some. Thus began what he referred to as the longest night of his life. He spent virtually the whole night trying to convince her. She even let him touch her, but as soon as he reached for her ‘hotspot’ she snatched his hands away. He pleaded, begged and even cried. Finally, he let go and went to sleep sometime before dawn. At about 6am he was awoken by the babe, who took off her clothes and said, “oya just come and do jare, make pesin rest.”

At that point he was already drained by the chase. He was too exhausted to be excited and although he got what he wanted, he said he felt used and pitied. So pity sex isn’t good for the guy? Interesting.

My husband refused to share any of his stories. But he did tell me about a friend of his, Mike. Mike loves extremely curvy women. So when he was able to get one with a huge badonkadonk to come home with him, he was over the moon. After the kissing session, he took off his clothes, ready for action.

The babe then told him she changed her mind, saying she would only sleep with guys she believed she had a future with. Mike began to desperately promise that he loves her, will marry her, blah blah blah. She stood her ground and told him she does not believe him. Naked Mike then raced into the living room, and returned with a bible. He went on his knees, in all his nude glory and swore on the bible that he had only the best intention for the girl. He did eventually get what he wanted, but damn, boy! *smh*.

All these stories have something in common though. The lady chooses to spend time alone with a guy, knowing she won’t be giving him some. I am all for women’s right to do what they want but even I think this is a bit cruel. I learned fast that if you choose to get in the same room alone with a guy you know is interested in you, then of course he will expect sex. So it is misleading if you do so, not to mention increasing the chances that you will be taken advantage of.

And as for the broken-armed guy calling my sister for help, I simply advised her to tell him that, if he truly broke his arm, needs help and is calling some chick he finds hot to save him, then he really does not deserve to have an arm. You no know where your mama dey?

PHOTO CREDIT: _Dreamstime_

question: Why does the narrator advise her sister not to visit the guy with the broken arm?

answer: The narrator advises her sister to tell the guy that if he broke his arm he needs help and shouldn't look for it from a girl he has been chasing for some time. The narrator's sister has told her that the guy has been hitting on her and she believes that he is using the broken arm to get her to come over. The narrator believes that he is hoping to get nookie.

question: Does the narrator let the women off the hook when it comes to all these hopeful men?

answer: The narrator does not let the women off the hook. She believes that in spending time alone with the men, the women know that the men are interested and will try their luck. So the narrator thinks that a woman who finds herself alone in a room with a man and has no intention of having sex with him is misleading him.


split: train

text:
MARIA CLAUDIA LACOUTURE (born 1974, Santa Marta, Colombia) was the Colombian Minister of Commerce, Industry, Tourism between May 2016 and August 2017. Previously was president of ProColombia (August 2010 - April 2016). Since October 3rd 2017 is the Executive Director of the Colombo American Chamber of Commerce (AmCham Colombia) In October 2019 she launched her first book “Turismo Sostenible” (Sustainable Tourism), published by Planeta. She is also an international consultant, lecturer and columnist at La República, one of the largest economic newspapers of Colombia

Education

Maria Claudia Lacouture studied Finance and International Relations at the University Externado de Colombia, and then pursued further postgraduate studies in Marketing and Economics at Cornell University in the United States.[1]

Biography

She is currently the Executive Director of the Colombo American Chamber of Commerce, (AmCham Colombia). She was Minister of Commerce, Industry and Tourism (2016-2017), President of ProColombia (2010-2016), Manager of the 'Colombia es Pasión' campaign and Vice-president of 'Imagen País' (2007-2009).

In 2015, Fast Company magazine rated her as the fourth most creative person in the business world from a list of 100 people which included Google, Nike, Pinterest and General Electric representatives among others.

Maria Claudia worked as a researcher for the Swiss Multinational consulting company Egon Zehnder International and also held roles as Content Administrator and Coordinator at Yupi Internet in Miami where she was in charge of dealing with business content for the B2B at Yupi.com and the development of the online bilingual business portal for the Americas.

She also worked as a specialist in foreign trade at Trade Wing Networks for product development of agricultural goods and sales strategy for Colombian coffee in the US market.

She started working at ProColombia in the Market Intelligence area in Bogotá and afterwards served as Marketing and Foreign Trade consultant and Tourism Director in the Commercial Office in United States, where she led the strategy for international cruise liners to return to Colombia.

In the Commerce, Industry and Tourism sector it is to highlight her leadership in implementing and promoting thirteen trade agreements which give access to Colombian entrepreneurs to 1.5 billion consumers in 73 countries, trade facilitation, paperwork reduction for enterprise creation, promotion of best practices and enterprise formalization, regional development and fighting against smuggling and unfair trade.

She led a strategy for diversifying non-traditional exports which achieved to position 850 new products in the international markets, with more than 1,200 new export companies, a growth of 600% in investment and 95% in tourism.

It was also consolidated the government purpose of removing export barriers and reducing management procedures in foreign trade in addition to the measures to improve competitiveness in the industry, innovation and entrepreneurship.

For consolidating Tourism, María Claudia Lacouture, created, structured and developed the  touristic corridors strategy for the development of new destinations and the integration of regional routes including zones that once were vulnerable during the armed conflict, and launched the international campaign of Colombia as a world touristic bird-watching destination.

On September 26, 2017, the former Minister Lacouture was given the Order of Merit 'Carlos Lleras Restrepo', awarded by ANALDEX for her contribution to the development of Colombian exports.

Minister Lacouture's management was recognized by Colombian entrepreneurs in a business survey carried out by La República newspaper, as one of the best government officials while she was in charge of the Ministry.

In October 2019 she launched her first book “Turismo Sostenible” (Sustainable Tourism), published by Planeta, through which she proposes a decalogue of actions to strengthen the institutionality of tourism, the professionalization of the sector, innovation, technology and quality of this industry that has become the protagonist of the Colombian economy.

She is also an international consultant, lecturer and columnist.

Blog de Maria Claudia Lacouture

Turismo Sostenible, first book of María Claudia Lacouture.

Follow María Claudia Lacouture in social media

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[1]

title: Maria Claudia Lacouture

question: What was Maria Claudia Lacouture?

answer: The Colombian Minister of Commerce, Industry and Tourism.

question: Where did Maria Claudia Lacouture study?

answer: The University Externado de Colombia.

question: When was Maria Claudia Lacouture Colombian Minister of Commerce, Industry and Tourism?

answer: Between May 2016 and August 2017.

question: Where did Maria Claudia Lacouture pursue postgraduate studies?

answer: Cornell in the United States.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This article is about Maria Claudia Lacouture, a former Colombian official in the ministry of Commerce, Industry and Tourism.


text:
Once upon a time, there was a dinosaur called Tort. Tort had a very good friend called Mick. They only knew each other for a couple of years but Tort and Mick were as thick as thieves. They went everywhere together and did everything together. Mick would do anything for Tort and so would Tort, though Tort was not very good at such stuff.

Tort was the kind of dinosaur with lots of horns and ridges on his body. Tort loved all of his horns and ridges. It made him very happy and proud of how sharp and rough and how colourful they were. Mick, on the other hand, was the kind of dinosaur without all of those horns and ridges. Mick was more of a mammoth actually and mammoths never really understood the appeal of those horns and ridges. They had hair and that was it. But Mick knew how much those horns and ridges meant to Tort and while Tort knew how Mick felt them, Mick never showed his lack of amazement to Tort.

One day, Tort was out wandering without Mick. For while they did everything together, they did everything without each other. And while Tort was walking, his dinosaur body tripped over a dead duck and fell. Tort got out up and realized something was wrong. And that something was hurting. Turning his head around, he realized one of his ridges broke up. It did not hurt a lot but Tort was very sad. Now, Tort though, he looked strange. He looked strange. Tort immediately ran to find Mick cause Mick would always make him feel better.
Tort found Mick at his house as he was always here. Mick saw Tort and instantly knew that something was up. He looked up at Tort with concern.

‘Look at me Mick! What do I do?’ Tort cried. Tort kept looking at his body with frustration and sadness. Mick did not quite understand what Tort was talking about but kept silent. As Tort went on about his body, with his wise mammoth head, Mick finally understood. Mick did not see why it would matter but he was not Tort and Tort was clearly upset.

Mick, after comforting Tort and successfully getting him to calm down, sat down and racked his brain on how to get Tort’s beloved ridge to grow back. The only remedy Mick knew was how to get mammoth hair to grow back. After hours of intensive research throughout the night, Mick figured how to alter the remedy to get it to grow back dinosaur horns and ridges.

The remedy was this greenish black paste made out of many ingredients that Mick took hours to scour for. But Mick found it quite fun, like a treasure hunt. The next day, Mick ran up to Tort and applied it on Tort’s wound while explaining it to him. Tort was rather sceptical of Mick’s herbal remedy but was touched at his action as he knew that Mick really could not understand why it was a big deal.

So Mick studiously made the remedy and every morning, he tended to Tort’s wound. Mick was insistent that it would work and was excited to see it in effect. As Mick came over every morning, Tort would go on about the new remedy he had read about. Mick listened to it all, sharing Tort’s excitement but continued applying the thick greenish paste.

One day, Tort ran over excitedly to Mick’s house and Mick as usual was there. Tort was extremely excited this particular morning as there was this gifted doctor in the nearby town. This doctor specializes in breakage injuries, especially the kind Tort suffered.

‘I’m going to set off tonight! His remedy is real medicine and this time I’ll really get healed’, exclaimed Tort excitedly.

Mick looked at Tort and smiled. He went to the cupboard and reached up, grabbing 2 jars of the paste with his mammoth trunk, passing it to Tort. ‘Just continue applying this anyways. It wouldn’t hurt’, Mick said.

So Tort set out, dinosaur lumbering to the doctor. The journey took a day and a half and Tort was absolutely exhausted. And his back felt itchy, especially where his ridge broke off. But Tort did not think much about it as he was really tired. After an hour or two of reaching the town, Tort finally found the doctor and was all ready to get healed. Tort dinosaur walked to the doctor, ignoring the itch on his back.

Tort met the doctor and related the entire story to him. The doctor was not really interested in Tort as he was rather busy. The doctor was in town for a holiday and not to heal people. So he was more of a tourist than a doctor. The tourist listen half-heartedly to Tort’s story while lounging in the porch. He reached into his bag, took out a packet of brightly coloured something, tore off the label and handed it to Tort, instructing him to eat it once a day before waving him away. Tort tasted it and it tasted like gummy bears. Nevertheless, Tort was happy that he would be cured in no time.

Tort rushed back to Mick. That took 2 full days cause Tort was tired and his back was itchy all the time and Tort doesn’t dinosaur walk very fast. When Tort reached Mick, he showed Mick the packet of medicine, rambling on about how his ridge would definitely grow back by the end of this week. Mick examined with his mammoth eyes. It looked like gummy bears. Mick tasted it with his mammoth tongue. It tasted like gummy bears.

Then, Mick noticed something on Tort’s back. ‘Your ridge! It’s growing back!’ Mick pointed at Tort’s back. Tort got very excited and ran to the mirror, confirming Mick’s observation.

‘It must be the medicine! That doctor is such a genius! He did not even stop to think what medicine to give me; that’s how smart he is!’ Tort was very happy indeed. Mick smiled as he hugged Tort out of happiness, the taste of the medicine still in his mouth.

Tort left Mick’s house, a proud and happy dinosaur. Tort looked at the bag of medicine in delight, popping one into his mouth. Suddenly, he choked on this particularly long bright greenish chewy medicine.

He died.

The end.

title: [MF] Tort the Dinosaur and Mick the Mammoth

question: What does the story say about the type of ingredients that go into an herbal remedy?

question: What does the story say about Tort?

answer: Tort is a dinosaur who had a lot of horns and ridges on his body. He loved them (his thorns and ridges) and was very happy and proud of how sharp, rough, and colorful these were. Tort also seems slow to move, has low self-awareness, and is clumsy. The story paints Tort as a superficial and self-centered dinosaur. Tort also seems like an unappreciative friend who wasn't really good at expressing his emotions.

question: What does the story say about Mick?

answer: Mick is a wooly mammoth and is covered in hair. Mick seems like a good and loyal friend. He accepts that Tort's flaws and would still do anything for him. Mick is an expert researcher and herbalist. He doesn't get the recognition he deserves after going out on a limb for Tort, but he never complains and is OK with it.

question: What does the story say about the doctor Tort saw?

answer: The doctor was a tourist on vacation. He didn't want to see any patients and barely listened to what Tort was saying. The doctor gave Tort gummy bear vitamins to get rid of him.


text:
I'm reading some essays by Chuck Palahniuk, and it said to try to write about an embarrassing story to try to gain authority over the readers (i.e. grip the audience's attention, I guess?). So I decided to try it out. Here it is:

We sat in my friend's car. Alone. In the backseat, the two of us – as far away from each other as possible. She leaned hard into the door, letting as little space as possible to be near me. She wouldn't look at me. Anything I asked her was met with short, one-word replies. Every apology was met with a lie: “I'm not even mad.”

I kept looking at her, but also not at her. I didn't know where to look. The silence in the car ate at me. It was one o'clock in the evening in the middle of a parking lot. For some reason, we were parked in a handicapped spot. The one dude who could drive chose to park here. I inspected any car that drove by, on the look out for cops. Parking here without a permit was illegal, wasn't it?

Our friends, four or five of them, ditched us. They saw how we acted around each other. Longing glances, inside jokes, slight touches. They wanted to give a little push. A little alone time for the couple on the fringe, they probably thought. They'll be together by the end of tonight.

No, this was the worst night to be alone with her. I pushed her a little too far tonight. Maybe it was how much I made fun of her in that one picture. Or maybe it was the fat jokes. I don't know. Whatever it was, she had enough. On the way here, she was completely detached. I guess I was the only one who noticed it. No one saw how she stopped making eye-contact during dinner, or how her responses shortened little by little. Or how she tried to talk to everyone except me. But I could read her the best, after all. I picked up on her cues more than anyone else.

The car was off. My back started to get stuck with a thousand needles, the way it always did when it started getting a little too hot. Coupled with the awkward silence, I couldn't find a good position to sit in. My butt was beginning to fall asleep. “Hey, do you wanna just walk around?”

She replied, but still didn't look at me. “Sure, but don't follow me.”

I followed her anyway.

I walked next to her, looking to the right. She stared at the ground to her left. I tried another apology. “I'm really sorry.”

“I'm not mad.” Only our footsteps made any sound. We just walked – on the sidewalk, up some stairs, over a tiny bridge that hung over some display fountain. Eventually, we ran into our friends. They had Starbucks in their hands.

“Hey, guys, what's up?” one of them dared to ask.

“Just take us home,” she said. Before I knew it, we were back in the car, but in different positions. I sat shotgun this time, and she sat diagonal to me, behind the driver's seat. The driver and one other friend rode with us, and they didn't speak. Probably because of the tension in the air.

I had the reins on the auxiliary cable, so I just blasted music. Anything to keep my mind off the situation. But I could feel her behind me. I wanted to meet her eyes just once, see some semblance of forgiveness. Or maybe even see her lips curl just a little bit. I always liked how her mouth moved. In fear, I couldn't look back. I could only look down at my shoes, rest my head against my hand, and whisper along to the lyrics of whatever song played.

The drive to her house was only around ten minutes long. But it felt longer than that. It was like I was on some time-distorting drugs. The road in front of me seemed to stretch forever, with no sign of ending. I couldn't stop squirming in my seat. I brainstormed ways of apologizing. Somehow, I ended up thinking of stupid romantic comedy movies. For the climax, those always had fights, and usually, a kiss fixed everything. You know what I mean? Some fight would happen, and the couple would spend some time away from each other. Each passing moment, the only thought they always reach is the other person. And by the end, usually in the rain, they meet up, and the guy goes for it, some passionate kiss. That's what would fix this.

It was not what would fix this. When we were dropping her off, I helped her carry her stuff out. And outside the car, alone, the other two still inside the car, I went for it.

“What the heck?” She pushed me away. And we looked at each other. At least we finally made eye-contact. But it wasn't forgiveness that I saw in her eyes – not even anger, actually. It was more like there was nothing there: her eyes were burned out. I couldn't see what enchanted me in the first place. Things were over between us.

So I went back into the car, dejected. I reclined my seat and covered my eyes with my arm. Even worse, I had to see her tomorrow.

title: [NF] I'm Really Sorry

question: Summarize the mounting tension in the story.

answer: The story begins with the narrator and a girl they seem to like in the back of a car. Their friends are trying to nudge them to be closer-maybe hook up or start dating-but they are resistant. She seems upset that the narrator has made some off-color jokes; the narrator lets her out and follows her around though she has asked to not be followed. Their friends approach them and the girl requests to be taken home. Then as the narrator is trying to help her unload her things-their friends remain in the car-the narrator goes in for a kiss and the girl angrily rejects them.

question: Summarize what the narrator's relationship was like with this girl before this evening.

question: Summarize the breaking point in the story.

answer: The breaking point is when the narrator goes in for the kiss at the end. The two are outside the car, and the girl has given them every indication they are not interested, not feeling it, and has verbalized that they want to go home. The narrator is even aware that they have taken things too far in their crude joking previously. The response from the girl is an expected rejection along the lines of, what are you thinking?

question: What does this story say about perseverance in dating?

answer: The story seems to hold that it is not always wise to push someone when they are giving clear signs that they do not wish to continue in any romantic or sexual manner. To pursue is not necessarily gallant; in fact, it can be pesky or even predatory. The narrator ends up being even more embarrassed than they would have if they had not made a last ditch effort.


text:
Vancouver Police no longer stand by statements issued Thursday about a man who was beaten after undercover police officers went to the wrong address in response to a domestic violence call, Vancouver Police Chief Jim Chu says.

Less than 24 hours earlier, Vancouver police stated in a news release a man received minor injuries to his face while being arrested on Tuesday in the early morning hours. Plainclothes police had knocked on the wrong door and encountered a middle-aged man who didn't understand English very well, spokeswomen Constable Jana McGuinness stated.

"The man resisted by striking out at the police and trying to slam the door, but the officers persisted in the belief that there may be a woman and child inside who could be in danger," Vancouver police spokeswoman Constable Jana McGuinness stated in a news release.

"The man was arrested and received minor injuries to his face in the process. Police called for medical assistance and the man was transported to Vancouver General Hospital as a precautionary measure," she stated.

In a sudden reversal Friday, Chief Chu withdrew those statements. "I want to make it perfectly clear this morning that we do not stand by that statement. This was information that was premature and released as fact when in reality only the current investigation into the matter can determine the details of what happened," he told reporters this morning.

He said he has been to Mr. Wu's home to apologize personally and on behalf of the police department "for the injuries and the trauma he and his family experienced."

The shift in position by the Vancouver police came after the 44-year old man, Yao Wei Wu, was interviewed by Vancouver media.

In an interview in Chinese with CTV News Thursday night, Yao Wei Wu said he went downstairs and asked who it was. The men identified themselves as police, he said.

The officers yanked him outside and beat him as soon as he opened the door, he also said. They asked him for his name only after they had beaten him, he said.

Mr. Wu's left eye was still badly swollen and shut Thursday night, and there were still spots of blood on the ground outside his front door.

Following publicity of the incident, Vancouver police issued a news release stating they had formally and personally apologized to Mr. Wu. A senior police officer, a Cantonese speaking police sergeant and an inspector from the professional standards section visited the family and listened to Mr. Wu's account of events, the news release stated.

The Vancouver Police Department also stated that an internal investigation into the case of mistaken identity would be conducted and the Office of the Police Complaints Commission was formally informed of the event.

question: Who is Yao Wei Wu?

answer: He was the 44-year-old man who was beaten by the Vancouver police in a case of mistaken identity.

question: Where did the incident take place?

answer: Vancouver, Canada

question: How did it happen?

answer: Vancouver PD got a domestic violence call, but police officers went to the wrong address (Mr. Wu's home).

question: Why did the Vancouver PD retract their earlier statement that Mr. Wu struck first and resisted arrest?

answer: Because he wasn't the suspect they were looking for (wrong address) and he couldn't understand English very well, which led to miscommunication. The situation became clearer after Mr. Wu spoke to Chinese media and a Cantonese-speaking police officer.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: A 44-year-old Chinese man, Yao Wei Wu, was beaten by Vancouver police in a case of mistaken identity when they responded to a domestic violence call but went to the wrong address. Vancouver Police Chief Jim Chu and the police department have since formally and personally apologized to Mr. Wu for the incident, and they retracted their previous statement that Mr. Wu was violent and resisted arrest.


text:
Press Releases

Posted Tuesday, January 17th, 2017

_CREATES DRUG ABUSE TASK FORCE TO COMBAT DRUGS’ IMPACT ON NJ RESIDENTS_

[Governor Christie Signs Executive Order Declaring Opioid Drug Abuse a Public Health Crisis]GOVERNOR CHRIS CHRISTIE today signed Executive Order 219 declaring the opioid epidemic a public health crisis in New Jersey. The action requires the marshalling of all appropriate resources to combat its harmful effects on state citizens.

“We must take aggressive action to get this insidious crisis under control so I am calling together all resources of state government in order to save lives,” said Gov. Christie. “The human cost of this epidemic is incalculable, impacting every part of life in New Jersey, affecting our education system, our health care system, public safety and the financial security of every person it touches.”

The Morris County Freeholder Board, Prosecutor’s and Sheriff’s Offices, Department of Human Services, and a host of non-profit agencies made the battle against opiates a priority Morris County issue in 2016 and continue to do so in the new year.  [Freeholder Kathy DeFillippo]

“The Freeholder Board strongly supports the continuing effort to deal with substances that are plaguing our young people, and hurting their families and communities,’’ said MORRIS COUNTY FREEHOLDER KATHY DEFILLIPPO. “We are attacking this issue in Morris County with facts, knowledge and public awareness, and we are very gratified to see the Governor’s actions on this front.’’

According to the U.S. Surgeon General, an American dies every 19 minutes from an opioid or heroin overdose. New Jersey’s drug overdose death rate increased by almost 22 percent between 2014 and 2015. There was a 30 percent increase in heroin deaths over the previous year and triple the number of deaths caused by the synthetic opioid fentanyl.

[Governor Christie Signs Executive Order Declaring Opioid Drug Abuse a Public Health Crisis]

Morris County focused in 2016 on the battle against opiate misuse

Additionally, the CDC reports that in 2012, health care providers wrote 259 million prescriptions for opioid pain medication, enough for every adult in the United States to have a bottle of pills.

The new Executive Order creates the Governor’s Task Force on Drug Abuse Control, to be headed by CHARLIE MCKENNA, Executive Director of the New Jersey Schools Development Authority.

The Council will be charged with developing and executing a comprehensive, coordinated strategy to combat the drug-abuse epidemic by working with all areas of state government, in addition to local, federal, and private entities, as well as the Facing Addiction Task Force.

The Drug Abuse Task Force will consist of eight members, including the Attorney General and the Commissioners of Health, Human Services, Corrections, Education, Children and Families, and Banking and Insurance.

The Task Force will review current statutes and regulations that present barriers to individuals suffering from addiction to receiving treatment and make recommendations to rescind or amend any such statutes or regulations to remove those barriers.

The panel is authorized to call upon any department, office, division, or agency of this state to supply it with information,

[Governor Christie Signs Executive Order Declaring Opioid Drug Abuse a Public Health Crisis]

Attorney General Chris Porrino

personnel, or other assistance available as the Task Force deems necessary to discharge its duties. The Task Force may consult with experts or other knowledgeable individuals in the public or private sector on any aspect of its mission.

The Executive Order also directs ATTORNEY GENERAL CHRIS PORRINO to take all necessary steps to limit the initial prescription of opioids for acute pain and establish standards such that additional quantities may only be prescribed after further consultation with the patient.

The Order further directs DEPARTMENT OF CHILDREN AND FAMILIES COMMISSIONER ALLISON BLAKE to ensure residential substance abuse disease treatment facilities and similar facilities utilize their existing spaces effectively, including ensuring that 18 and 19-year-olds with substance abuse problems are able to take advantage of any vacancies in existing facilities wherever appropriate.

In addition, the Governor is directing Acting EDUCATION COMMISSIONER KIMBERLEY HARRINGTON to develop a new, comprehensive grade-specific curriculum to educate children about the dangers of substance abuse.

Read Executive Order EO-219.

question: Why is New Jersey declaring opioid drug abuse as a public health crisis?

answer: According to the U.S. Surgeon General, an American dies every 19 minutes from an opioid or heroin overdose. The number of people dying from abuse is also increasing year over year.

question: How many opioids are sold?

answer: In the entire U.S., 259 million prescriptions were issued in 2012, which is enough to supply a bottle to every adult American.

question: What are the proposed plans for resolving the public health issue?

answer: The task force will review any laws preventing citizens from seeking treatment. The initial prescription will also be limited in the future. A grade-specific curriculum to educate children about drug abuse will be developed too.

question: What powers does the executive order give to the opioid drug abuse task force?

answer: The task force is authorized to request help from any department of the state for all of their needs.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: New Jersey governor Chris Christie signs Executive Order 219 on Jan. 17, 2017, declaring the opioid epidemic as a public health crisis. The U.S. Surgeon General states that an American dies every 19 minutes from either heroin or opioid overdose. The new Executive Order establishes a task force headed by Charlie McKenna. It also empowers the task force in modifying or rescinding the laws preventing those who seek treatment.


text:
 Within a 5 mile radius of Jimmy’s BBQ bar, there are close to 13 million people at any given time.  The odds of running into one person that you know are large. Millions of people stood in between that BBQ place down on 16st in Manhattan and Mohawk St in Ronkonkoma.  A distance of 1:32 minutes worth of train rides and 17 minutes of dodging strangers.   But this and the weather don’t stand a chance against the drive in one’s self to meet timeless friends. The cold, windy walkways were packed with strangers, yet you can still feel lonely.  A feeling that is coupled with embarrassment when in front of people with their timeless friends making memories.  A loneliness that drops on you, that doesn’t wipe away like the rain on your face; that doesn’t remove itself with a un-zip or a pull over.  It’s something that can only go away, after you catch the eyes of timeless friends, through the bar and into the dining area with a raise of eyebrows, the international sign of acknowledgement.  This feeling is brushed away as a new one levels up and becomes your greatest emotion.  Some call it happiness.  I call it home.

 Home is a place that time cannot get you.  Where there are no rooms for awkward or embarrassed to crash.  Only rooms for memories, acceptance and love.  When you come back home, A home only for your timeless friends, you are greeted like you’ve been gone for only a second.  Whether that second was last May or 2010.  In this home of yours and your timeless friends, you don’t start conversations.  They’re picked up where they were once dropped off.  The stories told within these walls will always be remembered.  It’s these walls that allow for them to be said and retold again.  A place where new stories can be made and even sometimes, a new person can be invited in.  Whether it’s a new friend or a loved one; they’re accepted.  Few invitations are given out, but when they are, they are never turned down.

   When it’s time to leave this home of you and your timeless friends.  It’s very open and easygoing.  You both understand that you won’t see each other; it may be many months or as few as a week.  But this never worries you, because you know that when the door closes and the final person puts on the lock.  Your home is sealed safe.  It will be waiting whole-heartedly for you to all return again.  And with the moment that has come so quickly, it flows off once again.  Into the walls of strangers, that your timeless friends walk and end.  Until next time, you shall be in each other’s thoughts and in each other’s thoughts of then.

TL;DR  don't be stubborn, read it.

title: A place called home.

question: Where is the story set?

answer: New York is the implied location.

question: Who are the major characters?

answer: No characters are named but the narrator talks about their friends in vague terms.

question: What does the narrator associate with 'home'?

answer: Friendship, happiness, safety, acceptance, and love. It is the place the narrator feels most secure and content.

question: What are the narrator's main concerns?

answer: The narrator initially worries about loneliness, but has no concerns after spending time with timeless friends in the realm of home.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The story is a reflection on the nature of 'home' and how it is the antidote to loneliness.


text:
Passion Fruit

	It was the finest orange I had seen in months. It was right in front of me in a tall, blue trash bin. I looked around in all directions to make sure no one else had seen it, and was thrilled to find that my eyes and my eyes only gazed at the luscious fruit before me. The afternoon sun danced across the porous surface, highlighting its beautiful features. The prize was mine.
	I hoisted my bag over my shoulder, not caring about the various objects that spilled over, and shuffled my tired feet towards the trash bin. I put on my best angry face in case any passerby’s in the park decided they wanted it for themselves. Just a couple feet from the trash bin, a young boy got too close. I lashed out at him, showing my rotting teeth as angrily as I knew how. The boy screamed and nearly fell as he made his escape on his bike. The incident made me cackle, and I moved ever closer to the orange.
	Within reach, I stretched my hand outward, admiring my filthy fingernails as I did so. I curled my bony fingers around the orange and quickly plucked it from the bin. I held it to my chest tightly and looked around again. Mine! All mine! I made my way eagerly towards a nearby bench. A young couple on the bench saw me approaching and moved away in a hurry. It made me truly appreciate my power.
	My smile only got bigger as I sat and admired my prize. All mine! I tossed my bag aside, my attention never leaving the orange. I rubbed my hands all around it, enjoying the textures, its perfections and imperfections. I gave it a light squeeze, testing its durability. It was just how I liked it, not too soft or too firm. It was cool in my palm and my dry, putrid mouth began to water.
	Overwhelmed with anticipation, I pressed my thumb down hard onto the peel. With a soft pop, I broke through the surface and shook with joy as juice flowed from the opening. I quivered as my thumb made contact with the soft, wet innards of the orange. I considered leaving my thumb in a while longer, but decided against it. I knew my satisfaction could not be achieved by touch alone. My mouth ached with desire as I inspected the orange one last time. With my thumb still plunged deep inside, I tightened my grip and started to peel my prize. Mine! All mine!
	My hand was soaked with lovely juices as I removed the last bit of skin. Finally the orange was stripped clean and I stared at it intensely. At last I could indulge; I could leave this troubled world behind for a moment and occupy myself with this pure, beautiful creation.
	I lifted the orange to my cracked lips and took a hungry bite. Fresh juices sprayed from my mouth as I slowly chewed my first chunk. I savored every moment until the last bite. I held the sloppy piece before me, wishing, hoping, praying that somehow it would be whole again. I closed my eyes hoping to find a new orange in my hand when I opened them, but the same piece remained. I became overwhelmed with sadness and was surprised when a tear rolled down my cheek.
	I crushed the last bite of orange in my hand, sending pulp and juice all around me, and I threw the pathetic nibble to the ground. I let out a decrepit scream, startling those who walked by. The orange betrayed me! The bastard made me cry! My enormous desire for the fruit had now turned to boiling anger. Revenge! I only wanted revenge. I was thinking about exactly what I wanted revenge for when I saw her.
	She was walking along a concrete path in the park. Her hair flowed in the breeze like a blonde sea. She was wearing a red tank top, revealing an impressive bust. My eyes lingered there a moment. It was the finest bosom I had seen in months. Her white shirt, littered with red roses, moved gracefully as she walked, and I enjoyed the pitter-patter of her white flip-flops. She held a tan purse with her right arm, and carried a grocery bag with her left.
	I stood up, almost in awe at the site before me. I looked around in all directions to make sure no one else had seen her. The park was crowded and no one paid much attention to anyone else. I was thrilled. I picked up my tattered and dirty bag and started along the concrete path. The same path my new prize was already on. I was about forty feet behind her and struggled to keep up. My tired feet protested, but I moved on. Mine! All mine!
	We walked for some time, eventually leaving the park. I was thirty feet behind now, getting closer and closer. She continued confidently, never stopping or looking behind her. She looked to be in her twenties, but difficult to tell from this distance. It didn’t matter; she would be mine soon either way.
	Still gaining on her, I followed her into a residential area with houses all around. I was careful to make sure no one else saw my prize. I didn’t want anyone to try taking her from me, not at all. Finally she turned into a driveway and I was filled with excitement. I nearly had her in my grasp, I was so close.
	By the time I reached the driveway, I could hear her opening the front door. I hurried in to reach the door, but my bag proved to be a burden. By the time I was at the entrance, she was already inside. I cursed and felt my prize slipping away. I stared at the door knob for a couple of minutes. I saw my hideous reflection in the gleaming brass and smiled, pleased with myself. I reached for the door knob and was thrilled to discover that the door was unlocked. Mine! All mine!
	I slowly pushed the door open and peeked my head inside. The front room was bright and cheery, tidy and well organized. I could hear my prize somewhere inside; she was humming a familiar tune. I moved all the way inside and carefully shut the door behind me. The air inside was cool and pleasant, a welcome change from the hot summer temperature. I eased my way closer to where I heard her sweet voice. I made my way down a hallway, taking a moment to admire some family photos on the way. My prize was a beautiful one to be sure. I almost couldn’t believe that I would soon have my hands on her.
	I turned the corner leading into the kitchen and came face to face with my prize. I gave my biggest smile and she froze in place. She was quite a bit shorter than myself and had a wonderful shape. I raised my arm and reached out at her, ready to claim my prize. Just then she let out a wild scream, startling me. She was to be mine, my prize, yet she screamed and screamed. She looked at me with disgust and turned to run.
	“Mine! All mine!” I shouted. I swung my bag as hard as my gangly arms would allow and struck her in the back. The impact caused her to fall face first onto the tile floor. I heard a crack and a grunt and watched her try to get up. She was obviously shaken, and she was definitely hurt. She turned over on her back, her eyes were flooded with tears, her nose soaked in blood.
	“Help! Please… Please help! Please don’t hurt me!” Her screams and cries were music to my ears. She sobbed hysterically as I closed in on her. The prize was mine at last. I crouched down beside her and studied her wonderful features, highlighted by the dancing sunlight coming from outside. I reached hungrily for her luscious breasts, eager to test their durability. She let out another scream, and I smiled. “Mine… All Mine…”
	Just then, I felt a burning pain radiating from my chest, accompanied by a thunderous bang. I felt suddenly weak and my prize blurred before me. A single tear rolled down my left cheek. And then there was darkness.

	I awoke some time later in a hospital bed. I frantically looked about for my prize, but she was gone. I was immediately blinded by rage and confusion. Outside the hospital door I saw one police officer talking to another.
	“Hell of a shot, Rob. Probably saved that girls life,” he said. And then I saw it. Across the hall was a young boy in a hospital bed. At his side, on a small table, sat a single red apple. It was beautiful. It was the finest apple I had seen in months.

			…Mine…All Mine….

The End

title: Passion Fruit

question: What would happen if the passion fruit was covered in trash and not visible to the narrator?

answer: If the passion fruit was covered in trash and not visible to the narrator, then the narrator would never have found it.

question: What can you assume about the narrator's mental state from this story?

answer: The narrator seems to have a very fragile mind with lots of volatile emotions occurring. All emotions of the narrator seem to be triggered from the fruit.


text:
Voices from the television, white noise to his vacant mind. Two men were talking to each other and he didn't see their faces. He saw moving lips. The stench of the apartment did not bother him. Half eaten food rotted on the floor. The most recent of this food was a bowl of somewhat eaten jello. It sat still on the table next to the couch where a mindless man sat.
Who is this man? Most would say he's a brilliant writer of a dozen famous short stories; each translated into a dozen languages and read by much more than a dozen people. The characters in his stories have been analyzed time and time again. They are the best creations of his writing. His characters are the story. Their complexities are deeper than most imagine. This writer is a genius.
But at this moment, he isn't a famous writer. He is Alfred Jones, the newest of his characters. You see, when the writer writes, he locks himself in his apartment for many months. He eats, but he doesn't finish. He turns on the TV and enters his imagination, unaware of reality, to build his characters for hours. He writes it all down when he awakes at midnight. He becomes his characters during these trances.
He jolted wide awake. Is it midnight? He checked the time through a TV and found it was 9:00. Two men were talking on a screen. Who are these two men, Sally? He looked around. Sally was not there. This isn't my place. Did I get drunk today? No, I couldn't have. So how did I get here?
The man stood up, puzzled by what was happening. The jello will stink, the jello will stink. He was startled by this incoherent thought. It wasn't his. Who was that?! WHO said that?! He grabbed a couch, trying for a grip of the demented reality. WHERE AM I?! The man ran to a bathroom. The jello will stink, the jello will-
He screamed. He wanted to vomit. Was he going crazy? Water rushed through the man's fingers as he washed his face. This will wake me up! It will, it will, it will, IT WILL.
He looked up to a mirror. Screams echoed in a bathroom. This isn't him! This isn't him! WHO IS THIS FACE?! WHO IS THIS?! He screamed and screamed. He clawed at the face. Is it a mask? He pulled but it wouldn't come off. Stink jello stink. The man smashed the face into a mirror. He's just dreaming right now! This can't be real. Blood trickled down the mangled face. Shards of mirror were dug into skin. They were deep.
Where's your wallet? I don't know.
Go find it. Who are you?
The man walked of a bathroom. Blood dripped onto a floor. Why is my face on fire? The man went towards a room. My face hurts. Sally? Help me. Jello stink.
I opened a door. Where is the wallet? Put out the fire. A wallet was on a bed. Whose wallet is that? It's mine. It's his. Put out the fire.
He picked up a wallet. I opened it up. I read a name on a license. Stephen King.
Who am I?

title: The Writer

question: Why is the writer going mad?

answer: The story doesn't give a reason.

question: What is the writer's style?

answer: He goes into a deep trance to create very detailed characters through whom he tells his stories.

question: Summarize the writer's thoughts after he wakes up.

answer: He's panicking because he can't remember who he is. Incoherent thoughts about the jello appear in his mind.

question: What could be the writer's name?

answer: It's likely to be either Alfred Jones or Stephen King.

question: Write a ~8 sentence summary.

answer: The half-eaten jello on the floor, TV blaring white noise, a brilliant writer, Alfred Jones, sits in a trance. His characters are his stories, and he goes into a trance, becoming his characters, and wakes up at midnight to write it all down. He opens his eyes at 9:00, an incoherent thought repeating in his head; the jello will stink. He goes to the bathroom but can't recognize his face. He hits the mirror, then searches the house for a wallet. He finds one and opens it, unsure if it's his. The name on a license reads "Stephen King." He still doesn't know who he is.


text:
M: Hey Steve, how’s it going
S: Going well Mark. Going well.
M: Well that's good, haven't seen you in  a while.
S: Heh yeah. Hey you know Lucy? She wants you to go pluck her feathers. Haha I think she's into you bro (gives Herb a wing bump)
M: (sighs) ahhh Lucy, she's not into me, it's her damn human. Went and got herself a macaw and is rarely home, and when she is all she does is look at that damn little screen of hers.  Now Lucy's gone all senile.
S: What a shame... Well, you should still go and pluck her up man, ever since the tip of her beak broke off she can barely make use of it.
M: Whatever, if she can talk to you, then she can pluck her own crazy self.
S: Yeah, I guess.
silence
M: So Steve, tell me how are things really going for you in the life of a pet.
S: ehhh I don’t know man. My owner keeps on asking me who’s a good boy. At first I had no idea who she was talking about, now she’s commanding me to say that I am, and well, I don't know if I really am a good boy.
M: What do you mean?
S: It's like what about me appeals to my owner as good? All she sees of me is when I'm hanging around the cage or when she's teaching me new stuff. She doesn’t know the real me or what goes on in my head.
M: Hmm. Go on.
S: And its like I listen to all of her commands so I guess that would make me obedient, but if I go and say I’m a good boy, well am I really obeying her? I'm giving her the answer SHE wants, but not necessarily the truthful one.
M:So your doing what she says while at the same time you think your lying because you don’t really know if you’re all good.
S: Yeah, I’m sitting there giving my owner what she wants, but in the end I don’t think it’s the right thing.
M: Oh Steve, I see what you’re saying and all, but come on don’t overthink it. Just do what she says and get your damn cracker.

S: Yeah, whatever. I guess you’re right.

title: Themes for this story?

question: Describe Steve?

answer: Steve is a pet bird, who overthinks his duties as a pet.

question: Why isn't Lucy into Mark?

answer: It seems Lucy isn't into Mark because she is now senile due to a neglectful owner.

question: What type of relationship do Mark and Steve have?

answer: Mark and Steve appear to be friends.

question: Where does this story take place?

answer: That information can't be found.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: Two pet birds, Mark and Steve, have a casual conversation about their lives. Steve asks Mark about Lucy, suggesting she may have a thing for him. Mark asks Steve about his life as a pet bird. Steve vents that he's not sure if he should call himself a good boy to his owner, who is training him to do so. He doesn't believe he's a good boy.


text:
Investment in Greater Lincolnshire by foreign companies more than tripled in 2018/19 and created almost 400 new jobs.

Figures released by the Department for International Trade (DIT) show that foreign-owned companies invested £456,280,000 into Greater Lincolnshire in 2018/19, an increase of more than 200% on the previous year.

In all 20 separate investments were made in Greater Lincolnshire, which was 25% higher than the previous year. Through these investments 392 new jobs were created and 37 jobs safeguarded.

Investment came from all over the world, including Brazil, Japan and South Africa, while eight were from companies owned in the USA or Germany.

Many of these investments were supported by the Greater Lincolnshire Local Enterprise Partnership which works closely with councils and the DIT to offer local, regional, national and international support to businesses.

While other parts of the Midlands Engine have experienced a reduction in the number of projects and new jobs created, Greater Lincolnshire is one of the few areas to have bucked the UK trend and witnessed a growth in the number of projects.

The area has also been able to maintain a healthy number of new jobs generated by foreign direct investment (FDI) last year, according to the Department for International Trade’s (DIT) latest figures.

“This proactive programme of free support to businesses has helped the number of foreign investments to increase by 50% over the last five years,” said Karen Seal, Senior Growth Officer at the Greater Lincolnshire LEP.

“Almost one-fifth of the new jobs created pay salaries of over £25,000 and 7% of them are in the high salary bracket of over £35,000 a year.

“We are seeing more companies investing heavily in automation and technology to boost production and create efficiency savings, and therefore, requiring highly skilled engineers and technicians to maintain equipment.

“The figures are also a reflection of the LEP’s drive to increase skill levels by working closely with the universities and colleges and by leading initiatives such as The World of Work, Skills Support to the Workforce and the Enterprise Adviser Network.”

Ursula Lidbetter OBE, Chair of the Greater Lincolnshire LEP, added: “These latest results from DIT represent a huge vote of confidence and optimism in Greater Lincolnshire. They indicate significant progress in Greater Lincolnshire’s own objective of boosting economic performance.

“Innovative, ambitious firms from across the world are choosing to locate and expand here, citing the area’s accessibility, talent pool, affordable space and vibrant business community.

“Through investment into key redevelopment projects, regeneration schemes and Team Lincolnshire, we are building a Greater Lincolnshire where people and businesses can thrive.

“I am particularly pleased to see private-sector investment into agri-food, advanced manufacturing and the clean growth sector from the Humber to the Wash.”

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question: What does the text say about investment in Greater Lincolnshire?

answer: Foreign companies invested £456,280,000 into Greater Lincolnshire in 2018/19. That is an increase of more than 200% in the previous year. The investment came from Brazil, Japan, South Africa, the USA, Germany, etc. Due to investment, the number of Greater Lincolnshire's projects increases.

question: What does the text say about how successful Greater Lincolnshire is?

answer: The number of Greater Lincolnshire's projects increases and salaries increase. Almost one-fifth of the new jobs created pay salaries of over £25,000. 7% of salaries are over £35,000 a year. Companies are investing heavily in automation and technology, and the Greater Lincolnshire LEP tends to increase skill levels by cooperating with the universities and colleges. The company  Greater Lincolnshire aims to boost economic performance.

question: What does the text say about the owners of Greater Lincolnshire?


text:
CAULKS CREEK is a stream in St. Louis County in the U.S. state of Missouri.[1] It is a tributary of Bonhomme Creek. Fishermen will find a variety of fish including bigmouth buffalo, bowfin, walleye, blue catfish and largemouth bass here.

Caulks Creek has the name of the local Caulk family.[2] [Caulks Creek]

[1]

[2]

title: Caulks Creek

question: What is Caulks Creek?

answer: Caulks Creek is a stream in St. Louis County in Missouri.

question: Where does Caulks Creek end?

answer: Caulks Creek spills into Bonhomme Creek.

question: How was Caulks Creek named?

answer: Caulks Creek is named after the local Caulk family.

question: What kind of fish can be found in Caulks Creek?

answer: A variety of fish, including bigmouth buffalo, bowfin, walleye, blue catfish, and largemouth bass can be found in Caulks Creek.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Caulks Creek is a stream in St. Louis County in Missouri that spills into Bonhomme Creek. A variety of fish, including bigmouth buffalo, bowfin, walleye, blue catfish, and largemouth bass, can be found in the stream.


text:
[Anglo-Australian telescope, Siding Spring] The WIGGLEZ DARK ENERGY SURVEY was a large-scale astronomical redshift survey carried out on the 3.9 metre Anglo-Australian Telescope (AAT) at the Siding Spring Observatory, New South Wales between August 2006 and January 2011. The name stems from the measurement of baryon acoustic oscillations in the distribution of galaxies (“the baryon wiggles”).[1]

The survey measured the redshift of 240,000 galaxies in the Southern sky. Redshift is the increase in the wavelength of light emitted by a galaxy caused by its speed of motion away from an observer on Earth, enabling the distance of the galaxy from Earth to be computed according to Hubble's Law. The redshifts were measured using the AAOmega spectrograph, which can simultaneously analyse 392 galaxy spectra using optical fibres controlled by a robot positioner, providing a superior mapping speed. Suitable targets were primarily selected by the orbiting GALEX satellite and to complete the survey required some 160 clear nights of telescope time.[2] The data enabled a three dimensional computer model of the galaxies to be calculated. The large number of observations makes it possible to study variations in the distribution of the galaxies caused by such features as baryon acoustic oscillations.

The work was carried out by a core team of 14 Australia-based astronomers led by Chris Blake and including Sarah Brough, Warrick Couch, Karl Glazebrook, Greg Poole, Tamara Davis, Michael Drinkwater, Russell Jurek, Kevin Pimbblet, Matthew Colless, Rob Sharp, Scott Croom, Michael Pracy, David Woods, Barry Madore, Chris Martin and Ted Wyder. The work was done in conjunction with collaborators in Toronto, Canada and at the California Institute of Technology and Jet Propulsion Laboratory in the United States.

The underlying purpose of the survey was to improve understanding of the phenomenon of “dark energy”, proposed as the mechanism for the observed increasing rate of expansion of the universe, contradicting the traditional theories of gravitational attraction.[3] The survey results can be used in conjunction with measurements of Cosmic microwave background (CMB) to provide more accurate estimates of the composition of the universe. The results will also test current theories of gravity by mapping the growth of structure with redshift. Thirdly, detailed analysis of star-formation rates, environments, morphologies and luminosity functions will provide information on galaxy evolution.

The WiggleZ project was succeeded by the Baryon Oscillation Spectroscopic Survey (BOSS) based on the 2.5 metre telescope at Apache Point Observatory, New Mexico and the Dark Energy Survey based on the 4 metre Blanco telescope in Chile.

[1]

[2]

[3]

title: WiggleZ Dark Energy Survey

question: What did the WiggleZ Dark Energy survey entail?

answer: It is a large-scale survey measuring the redshift of 240,000 galaxies in the Southern sky.

question: What is a "redshift"?

answer: A redshift is an increase in the wavelength of light emitted by a galaxy caused by its speed of motion away from an observer on Earth.

question: What is the name of the instrument used to measure redshifts?

answer: An AAOmega spectrograph.

question: What is the reason behind these measurements?

answer: To improve humanity's understanding of the dark energy phenomenon.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: The WiggleZ Dark Energy Survey is a large-scale survey measuring the redshift of 240,000 galaxies in the Southern sky. One of the instruments used to measure these redshifts is the AAOmega spectrograph. The reason why redshifts are being measured is to improve humanity's understanding of the dark energy phenomenon. The WiggleZ project was succeeded by the Baryon Oscillation Spectroscopic Survey (BOSS).


text:
Restaurant Open Again!

WE ARE DELIGHTED THAT CAFE EAST IS  OPEN AGAIN FOR BOTH RESTAURANT AND TAKEAWAY MEALS EVERY DAY EXCEPT TUESDAYS.

Our spacious restaurant is now open to customer, with simple social distancing measures in place.

We look forward to seeing you!

OPENING TIMES

[OPENING TIMES]

FOR TAKEAWAY, CALL 0207 252 1212 TO PLACE YOUR ORDER.

[FOR TAKEAWAY, CALL 0207 252 1212 TO PLACE YOUR ORDER.]

RESTAURANT AND TAKEAWAY NOW OPEN
EVERY DAY EXCEPT TUESDAYS

[]

Find Us

question: What is the restaurant mentioned?

answer: Cafe East

question: What day is Cafe East closed?

answer: Tuesdays

question: Where is Cafe East located?

answer: It is not mentioned where the cafe is.

question: How can you contact Cafe East?

answer: You can call them at 0207 252 1212.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: This is an advertisement letting customers know that Cafe East is open again. The restaurant is open inside and for takeaway everyday except Tuesdays. The restaurant has provided a phone number to contact them.


text:
  *THE GREAT ADVENTURES OF MANU.*

First i'd like to say i have a idea of something medieval possibly lord of the ring style of writing. Somewhat mythological and full of medieval kittens.

Wish me the best of luck and enjoy.

There once was a boy named Manu from a village in the outskirts of Britain.
Mended by his pure loyalty to the crown in which he would prepare the finest blades to all the soldiers. His secret knowledge of metals and ores remained hidden, he would never speak about his ingredients. But these blades were the best, Never to be broken in battle and sharp enough to break through armor. Manu would often train his sword skills by hours of practice, he soon became one of the best swordsmen's in all of the castles.
Manus state was never peaceful his castle was always being attacked by the "gridlock" another state trying to concur the lands. Gridlock had concurred 10 previous castles and was heading directly towards manus home.

Manu wakes up in the middle of the night to screaming, it seems a lookout has spotted the gridlock clan moving in on their castle. All are beginning to prepare for battle, while the women and children seek shelter. Manu instantly understands what he must do, he walks towards his bed and sits down beside his kitten Medule.

Manu: Now i need you to know something medule, battle is upon us and we must not run, I CANNOT RUN, This is my home and i will FIGHT to protect it!"
Medule: Meow purrrr Meooow
Manu: Your gonna have a good life medule, i promise you, there will be tuna every night.
Medule: Meow! Meoow!.... Meow :(
Manu: I gotta do this medule. Good bye.

As Manu prepared his things and walked out, medule shed a single tear and began grooming itself with its tongue, you know why? Cause Medule is a cat and thats what cats do. Manu had never been in battle, the streets were full of many men willing to give their lives for the crown. Everyone soon surrounded Manu, they all knew of his skills and wisdom.
As this was all happening a slow pace cheer began to happen. They chanted ^Manu^^Manu^^^Manu! Manu! MANU! MANU! MANU!, out of all the commotion he noticed someone coming through the crowd. It was Medule, he swiped his legs puring. Then all of a sudden jumped onto his shoulders said

Medule: ^Manu^^Manu^^^Manu! ^Manu! ^^MANU! MANU! ^MANU!

Menu was speechless, Medule? you speak! YOU SPEAK!!! I always knew you could understad what i was saying!

Medule then said "Menu, you can do this but my people are calling me. It is my time to go.

Menu: "What go?! i can do this..! i can save my town and i can save you!

Medule: "You can but my future has already been determined, my family needs me"

Medule then floated away.

____________________

PART 2 COMING SOON.

title: A short story prepared on the spot.

question: Describe Manu.

answer: He is a village boy who has a secret knowledge of metals. He crafts the best blades. He is one of the best swordsmen in all of the castles.

question: Are there any other significant characters?

answer: Medule, Manu's kitten.

question: What happens during the battle?

answer: Manu discovers his kitten can talk. The kitten tells him she has to leave and then floats away.

question: Does Medule communicate with Manu?

answer: Yes, she talks to him.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer: Manu is a village boy who has a secret knowledge of metals; he crafts the best blades. He is one of the best swordsmen in all of the castles. One day the Gridlock clan attacks the castle. Manu tells his kitten, Medule, that he needs to stay and fight. Later, Medule makes her way to find Manu; she speaks to him, telling him she must leave to help her family. She floats away.


text:
I felt the grass lick my toes like eager puppies wanting attention, each blade moist with dew, sleepy seeds in the eye of the night. The green carpet laid before me was sparkling in the early morning sun as I strolled across my lawn to my car, the   vehicle destined to take me to a place and a time that I had long awaited, yet was somehow convinced would never arrive. The blue shimmer of my 2009 Hyundai Accent looked grey and dull this morning as I turned the key in the door to unlock my portal. I got in and turned the key in the ignition. Styrofoam Plates by Death Cab For Cutie permeated the car with its melodic despair and I could almost form a grin at the cliché scene I had arrived in. I turned the volume up to 21 and started on my way, out the driveway and down the road to a new beginning.

There was a time when this would have come as a shock. It would have swallowed me and pushed me down into its poisonous, acidic stomach, already writhing with the pain from others misfortune. Once upon a time this would have been tragic, for lack of a better word. I would have been woeful for months, the salty sting of tears continuously racing down my cheeks, one drop trying to beat the others to my lips. At this time, at this particular time in my life, after one to many, “sorry’s” started to make the word meaningless, and the once strong knot began to fray from being gnawed at with sharpened, practiced teeth, I could find no tears. The loyal, wide eyed little girl of my youth had seen too much. You can only disappoint a child so much before they grow up into adults, calloused and weathered from a childhood gone wrong. Memories of maggots in the food pantry and dinners fashioned of stale crackers are no longer images of a forlorn victim trying to make the best of things, which is what you had us believe. At 23 I can now see the pathetic slop who cared more about how to find enough change to buy a six pack of Budweiser, than how we was going to buy his daughters dinner. Looking back, it’s easy to smell the stale stench of mariuana throughout the house wafting out the doors and into the street as a pathetic reminder of the family within. We would wait at school for hours when you’d forgotten us, lost pets with no collars, no real home address, finally calling Mom and feeling badly because we’d gotten you into trouble.

No one feels bad now. The song is over and I start it again. Ben Gibbard really hit home with this one.

“Thanks boys,” I say to myself.

The day had gotten suddenly hot during my brief drive. My hands were sweating and I could feel beads of moisture gathering on my upper lip. I wanted to turn around, but not for fear, rather for utter disgust. You don’t deserve for me to be there, for anyone to be there. You, the liar, the junky, the alcoholic, the homeless man in the street with no one to blame but himself. The older we got, the worse you got. People don’t pay their respects to crack heads; they don’t go out of their way to say goodbye to a cocaine dealer or someone neurotically addicted to heroin. I guess you’re one of the lucky ones, you, the bastard, the cheat, the poor excuse for a father. Should I turn around? I was stopped now, right blinker on, car motionless in limbo. I stare down the road, looking dazed and unsure, an Alzheimer’s patient, escaped from the home but at a loss of where to go.

“You need this,” I tell myself. With no clear intention of exactly why, I put the car into drive, turn on my left blinker, and pull back onto the road. The AC is blasting now and my hands are clammy, betraying my cool demeanor. I’ve been driving for about 20 minutes now. I pass the country diner on my left. Hanging in front is a large banner reading “One thing ends and another begins! Find us down the street!” I’d heard rumors that the old building was being taken back by the landlords. Supposedly some new, up and coming young buck had bought the place and was re-opening at a location down the road. New building, new owner, same old favorites.

I was getting close now. My heart was racing and my ands were shaking. My breath seemed to have become labor intensive. Did I take my Celexa today?

“You’re freaking out,” I tell myself, “get it together.” What would I do when I got there? Would I have to explain why only one of his two daughters showed up? Would they know? Does most of the family even have a fleeting idea about how bad it’d gotten? Did they know why he had stopped showing up to family functions? Crack, Heroine, Speed, these things had changed him from an irresponsible drunk to a pathetic junky with nothing to call his own but guilt and hatred, putting the blame to his misfortunes on the people he used to call family. Would I cry, or feel remorse> Had I successfully separated myself from any feelings of attachment towards this man who had become nothing more than a donor of seeds to help create me?

The cemetery was in sight now, less than a quarter mile away. I had turned the music off and the only noise was that of the wheels of my Hyundai on the pavement, and my slow, careful breathing trying to keep my anxiety in check. I take a right through the cemetery gates, making me think of that song by The Smiths of the same name. I hum its tune under my breath as I spot the cars, to which are my final destinatjion, in the far corner of the field of stones. “Another dreaded day so I meet you at the cemetery gates, Keats and Yeats are on your side.” I never liked Keats much anyway.

My car is parked next to my Grams, who I can see huddled near my aunts and uncles. She has her head in her hands, crying for a lost son who hadn’t really been alive for years. I wonder what she told them about his death.

“It was an accident.”

“It was his first time.”

“Someone must have slipped it in his drink.”

Overdoses are hard to make excuses for. Maybe she just came out with it.

“He was a drug addict, and this was a long time coming.”

I slowly stroll over to this grave, half moon of people, in no hurry to be a part of this huddle, loomed over by imagined grey, stormy clouds. I brace myself for the sympathetic comments and pitying eyes, hoping that their voices roll over me with no more clarity than the low incoherent mumble of adults from The Peanuts. Thankfully as I make my final steps to be with my family, the casket begins its decent and last words are spoken. This is the only part I came to see. I tune out the half hearted blessings for the after life of this long-passed man, once a father, a husband, a son, but ho had long ago given up to right to any title so deserving. As the Final tomb of the man I once knew lowers slowly into the forgiving earth, I can see the stress and confusion of a little girl I used to know going with it. The sordid reality of a boy trapped in the body of a man, with no regard to responsibilities or family is finally plunked into the ground where it belongs, buried and eventually forgotten.

We all take turns sprinkling dirt onto the simple, cheap coffin. I hug my gram and tell her I’ll meet her at her house where everyone is gathering and I realize she is not crying anymore. The faintest hint of relief has washed over her tired face. As I make the short walk back to my Hyundai, I embrace each step as the first steps to the beginning of my life.

title: A Happy Ending (working title) *any feed back is GREATLY appreciated*

question: What is the overwhelming emotion the narrator is feeling as she makes her way to her father's funeral?

answer: Reluctance - she does not want to go to the funeral.

question: What does the narrator think about the cause of her father's addiction and responsibilities towards his family?

answer: She believes he is immature - a boy trapped in the body of a man.


text:
I know a girl who lives in a house with some friends of mine, I can't tell you her real name but we'll call her Mary. Smooth pale skin, almost white, and short brown hair, long slender arms and fingers and a neck like a length of PVC pipe. She's beautiful in the same way that the alien girl from the Fifth Element is beautiful, kind of fucked up but still sexy. I've been round at the house a few times, my sister lives there with one guy studying pharmacy and another guy I knew in school. I'm sitting with my sister and old mate, the pharmacy guy is in his room probably jacking it over Skyrim. Mary pops into the kitchen and sees us, says hello, and then disappears into her own bedroom. She's watching documentaries. She's shy.
	“That Mary” I say to Daniel, “She's pretty cute. She's a real cutie-pie.”
	“Yeah she's great. She's a smart cookie, but got some weird shit going on though. Really fucked up shit.” He shakes his head.
My sister looks ominously at Daniel and me. My sister is a really good girl.
	“I don't think we should talk about Mary.” she says to us, decisively like she's holding a gun under the table pointed at our junk. “She's having a hard time at the moment.”
Daniel sucks on a beer and rubs his jaw. There's some disgusting blond facial hair clinging to his cheeks, chin and neck. It looks like sparse pubic hair on a tight scrot. I told him these exact words because I'm his mate but he ignored me. He thinks he looks like Tim Rogers. He doesn't heed the warning look from my sister.
	“It's been hectic here man,” he tells me. “All kinds of people trying to get in to talk to Mary. People in suits and-” my sister cuts him off.
	“Daniel, the last thing Mary needs is more people causing a fuss about it! Just drop it!”
I'm pretty interested now because it sounds like personal dramas, and there's a chance we'll get talking about Mary's pert breasts or maybe she's having sex with a woman these days. I dig stuff like that.
	“What's the story?” I ask Daniel. We ignore my sister's complaints.
	“All these people have been showing up, trying to get information about Mary, medical people and lawyers and shit. I don't know who they are. Anyway they're all trying to get their hands on Mary because she laid an egg the other week.” He shrugs his shoulders innocently. This is too much for my sister.
	“FUCK Daniel! You don't even know what happened yourself, don't talk about this stuff, it's absolutely nothing to do with us, not to mention just plain rude when Mary can probably hear us talking about her!”
	“Wait, what do you mean she laid an egg?” I ask Daniel.
	“Mary can't hear us from her room, relax.” He says to my sister, then turns to me with a blank expression on his face. “She laid a fucking egg man, I don't know. She went in to the hospital and they helped her deliver an egg.”
	“What, like a chicken egg?”
	“No it was a bit bigger.”
My sister gets up with a resigned look on her face and shuts the door between the kitchen and the hallway, then pours a vodka and tops it up with ice and soda water. She has it pretty strong. She gives up trying to stop Daniel talking about Mary's egg. I'm still not getting it at this point.
	“Was it like a duck egg or a goose egg or something? Is that some sex thing that people do?”
	“No, no they don't know what it was. They've never seen an egg like it before. Nobody could identify it, they had bird scientists and all sorts of people on the case.”
	“They're called ornithologists,” my sister corrects him like she's slapping a child. “They called them in when Mary couldn't explain the egg and ran some tests on it. From what we've heard it didn't match anything that we know about.” She sips her drink sadly. I can tell she's worried about Mary. She's a good girl, my sister. Daniel is rolling a joint but he's not very good at it. He keeps spilling chop all over the table in front of him, then picking it up bit by bit. He continues the story.
	“Anyway the doctors let Mary go home because there didn't seem to be anything wrong with her, but she's been recommended counselling and some other therapy and shit just in case.” He licks the paper he's holding and rolls it thoughtfully. “The strangest part is that Mary asked for the egg back. She kept it.”
We sit in silence for about twenty seconds, digesting this information. My sister has just started to speak when the door opens and Mary comes in. She seems oblivious to our conversation and goes to the refrigerator and gets out a bowl of leftover fettuccine carbonara.
	“Hey how is university going?” I ask her, more to break the tension than from any real interest. I know that she is studying to be a nurse and that she hasn't made many friends at school. I feel sort of sorry for her in a way, I know she's intelligent but she seems sort of lonely as well. Plus, she's got an egg now. Mary puts the bowl in the microwave.
	“Uni is fine,” she tells me distractedly. “I go on placement next month, I'm a little bit worried about it but it will probably be very interseting.” The conversation falls flat like a cool kid tripping over a box of VHS tapes. Mary is standing behind Daniel who sits facing me. He silently mouths the sentence “ask her about the egg” with his eyebrows raised. My sister starts to offer Mary a drink but she declines.
	“What are you watching in your room? A documentary?” I ask her, trying to remain tactful in spite of Daniel's suggestions.
	“Can we see your egg?” He spurts out before she can answer me. He's like the conversational equivalent of premature ejaculation at a funeral. We're all in stunned silence, I'm on the verge of giddy laughter. My sister punches Daniel right in the solar plexus, hard.
	“Why are you a dick?” She practically shouts at him. That punch winded him though and he just keels over in his chair gasping and looks up at me with irrepressible mirth in his eyes. She's right though, he is a dick. Mary turns to the sink silently, I think she's probably going to cry. My sister is shaking her head in her hands. The microwave beeps loudly. That carbonara smells fantastic. My sister gets up and puts her arm around Mary but the girl darts out of the embrace and flits through the open door.
	“Mary, wait!” My sister calls after her and turns to leave. She throws a baleful glare in our direction before she exits.
	“What the fuck is wrong with you? That hurt.” Daniel wheezes after her. When he can breathe again he leans back and gets the bowl of carbonara out of the microwave.
	“I've seen the egg, you know.” He tells me. I'm pretty interested. “I had to sneak into her room because she won't let it out of her sight. She was asleep and it was resting on a pile of her clean laundry.”
	“You're pretty disgusting man.” I tell him. He just shrugs. He puts the poorly rolled joint between his lips and lights it.
	“It's a nice looking egg.” He says.

title: Mary laid a fucking egg man

question: What does the story say about Mary?

answer: Mary was a girl who looked extraordinary but still sexy. In the story, she seems to be going through a troublesome time. Daniel becomes nosey and asks more.

question: What does the story say about Daniel and the narrator?

answer: Daniel and the narrator seem to be good friends. They are gossiping about a girl named Mary. Apparently, she laid an egg.

question: What does the story say about Daniel and the narrator's sister?

question: What does the text say about the egg?

answer: Mary was an extraordinary girl who was sexy in her own right. There are rumors that she laid an egg. Daniel asks to see it and makes her uncomfortable.


text:
It's been light for a while. Mid morning. The computer screen turns on, and they play a little game.

On the screen, a pixelated boy. He's lying in a hospital bed, next to a window where the sun lights his face. In the background is the methodic beat of a heart machine, synced by a red light.

A message appears 'Click the mouse'. They click, and at first it doesn't seem the game is responding, but as they click faster, the boy's actions become clear.

He's slowly jerking off under the hospital blankets, and as the player moves, so does he. The heart machine beats quicker in time.

Some stop playing at this point, and the boy is left with a tease, his arm falling back to his side and his mind drifting back into sleep.

Others continue on, curious to where this leads.

The player can hear his breath now as he tries to make the boy come. This game doesn't make it easy though, the designers trying to force a parallel experience.

Click! Click! Click!! Click! BEEAP-BEAP-BEAP! The boy's movement stops, and his heart rate slowly drops. The player too, realizes it is done and waits for his reward for jerking himself off.

The boy on the screen though, just turns softly to one side and falls asleep with a Zzzz, until another tries his hand.

title: A little game

question: Why do some people stop playing the game?

answer: It is possible they are grossed out by the fact that the boy is masturbating.

question: What is the reward the player gets for making to boy come?

answer: Nothing--the boy simply goes to sleep.

question: What time of day does the game take place?

answer: Sometime during the day


text:
There it was: the biggest Kjrussich that J'nah had ever seen. Blood dripped from it's front fangs as it sat on it's haunches, gnawing at the bones of one of J'nah's family's livestock.

His father had warned him not to go looking for the beast, but J'nah couldn't stand watching as his family farm was slowly ravaged by the beast, each night taking more livestock and leaving less and less for his family to sell come market time.
He had come prepared, carrying the large spear he had fashioned out of Bondwood and  Jettite, and a pouch full of throwing stones hung at his side. Following the beast's tracks in the freshly fallen methane snow had led J'nah right to the beast's lair among the craggy outcroppings in the valley below the pastures.

Crouched in the shrubs, he watched and waited for the right moment to strike. He knew that his spear must strike where the Kjrussich's four shoulder blades bet, at the point on it's back just before the spinal spikes began. Off in the distance, a hazy orange glow meant a dust storm was on it's way.
The beast turned away, reaching for another tasty bite. It's back was toward him-- now was the perfect time to strike. Wiping the sweat from his scaly forehead, J'nah crept forward, his padded footclaws silent on the snow.

The beast stopped eating and sniffed the air with a fierce sound. Before J'nah could plunge his spear into the vital spot, the Kjrussich spun around, snarling with all fangs bared, blood dripping. It meant to defend its lair at any cost.
In his lessons at the younglings' council, J'nah had learned well the legends of brave heroes who would go off to battle and slay monsters courageously. He had always hoped that when the time came for him to earn his surname, his actions would make him known as "Foeslayer" or "J'nah the Bold", like the warriors of old. At that moment, he thought it was more likely to be "J'nah the Swift Coward."

The Krjussich lunged at him, and J'nah leapt to the side, stumbling on top of a snow frosted boulder. With a dreadful howl, the beast whipped around and spat a dart at the youth. He felt the sting as it lodged in his arm. The paralyzing numbness kicked in almost immediately, rendering his spear arm as limp as his grandmother's home-cooked  Bessintaa Noodles. His spear fell to the ground. The Kjrussich howled and raised all four arms in a threatening display. J'nah found himself against the wall of the outcropping, trapped.

Just overhead, a spark of flame illuminated the sky. Something seemed to be soaring down through the atmosphere towards him and the beast at incredible speed. In a second, the object was upon them: a great metal ball, firing jets of flame downwards. It was all J'nah could do to shield his eyes from the incredible could of dust that arose as the thing lowered itself slowly upon it's pillars of flame. He heard another terrifying howl, from the Kjrussich, but felt to fangs or claws.

He opened his eyes as the dust began to recede. The metal thing had burnt the beast to a shouldering crisp with it's jets of flame, and landed on top of the charred remains. J'nah reached forward to grab his spear with his good arm. The thing made no further movements, just sitting there like some sort of strange sky rock. It's body shone brighter and looked sturdier than forged Jettite, except for one spot: a huge glass eye. It seemed to be staring straight at him.

There was no way to know what this thing was, but judging from the way it destroyed the Kjrussich, it was nothing friendly. J'nah thrust his spear through the glass eye and felt it shatter with a satisfying crunch. He didn't stop to make sure he had killed it, instead seizing the chance to run home as quickly as his legs could carry him. The dust storm beg and to whip into a frenzy just as he reached the door. He knew that by the next morning, the metal thing and the remains of the Kjrussich would be buried beneath the ever shifting sand and snow. His father would be proud of him, though. He knew that on this day, he had earned his surname: "J'nah Spear-Arm".

At mission control in Houston, TX, all the status indicators on Harvey Bridges' screen went offline. He cursed. The tense, silent atmosphere in the room as Titan Lander Darwin 1 entered the atmosphere of Saturn's largest moon would be broken with disappointment.

"No status report," he announced, "Looks like the probe must have disintegrated as it went through Titan's atmosphere. Show's over, folks."

title: Hunt (Sci-Fi short story, 797 words)

question: What does the story say about J'nah's fight with the beast?

answer: The Krjussich, a beast, comes every night to J'nah's family farm and takes livestock. J'nah decides to look for the beast and try to kill it. He is Following the beast's tracks in snow and finds its lair. The beast notices him and attacks him. Suddenly, a metal ball appears in the sky and starts firing jets of flame downwards and burned the beast.

question: What does the story say about J'nah'sfriends?


text:
a little nervous about posting this, the first short story I ever really tried to write.

                                    Dial.

	Breathe, just breathe. His eyes drifted open, swallowing the sweat from his brow. His arm stretched for the left side of the bed, hoping, praying to find her there. But he only felt cold sheets. Baby Blue eyes and long blonde hair soared through his mind as he closed his eyes and pictured her face,  if only he could hold her again.... Snap out of it! His eyes tore open again, this time, they remained open, drinking in the early morning sunlight as it peeked through the curtains. He took a long breath, and rose from his bed, his feet sinking into the plush carpet that lined the bed. He staggered over to bathroom door, his hand grasping for the handle. He pushed his way through the doorway, headed to the shower, when he saw something through the corner of his eye. He gazed into the mirror a moment before he realized that it was him that he saw. He looked at his ragged, glassy-eyed reflection and felt only disgust, the kind of disgust where nothing about his face appealed to him. Nothing in that glassy-eyed gaze seemed worth anything, and he hated it. Deep in the pit of his stomach he knew this was all due to her, but he couldn't bring himself to face it. Just like he couldn't bring himself to accept she was gone. Gone, and never coming back again. He could still see the moment she left in his mind, playing over and over again like an old movie reel. Her bag in her hand, her fist clenched around a plane ticket, her big blue eyes looking over him with revulsion. Her mouth forming the ugly words that would shatter his world, smashing it into innumerable pieces. “I hate you Jeff” her voice shaping that last word like it was something foul, as if it left poison on her tongue to say it at all. “You're nothing, and you're never going to amount to anything, you're worthless” He had never known until then that words could cause physical pain, pain so volatile and intense that it hurt him to talk, which is why he said nothing as she left. His reflection faded back into his view, and he gazed deep into his eyes. “I am worthless” he said, saying the words aloud to himself as if  to try and affirm her. Saying them aloud didn't help though, all it did was serve to sear them deeper into his mind. He thought of the days when He had been in her favor, when all the words he said made a smile rise from her beautiful lips. He could not have said for the life of him when his words lost their magic, when everything he said caused her to scowl instead of smile. When all he did caused her to look at him like he was dirt, instead of gold. The moment that these changes began eluded him, he supposed that he would never know what triggered the downward spiral in their relationship, but he knew that the spiral was there, and it led to nothing but emptiness for him. Maybe it had been when he lost his job, or when the doctor told them that they were barren, and they would never have the large family she had always wanted. He couldn't be sure. These events all brought upon the poison that killed their love, and their marriage. He tightened his tie around his neck, and headed out the door. The air was cold, nipping the bare skin at the edge of his collar, causing him to instinctively shiver. He proceeded down the sidewalk still wrapped up in his thoughts, thinking of her. He shuffled through the crowded streets, a ghost among the living. He was shrouded in thought, hardly noticing any other people around him, walking through them like a salmon up a stream. He walked for hours, not sure what he was searching for, but searching nonetheless. He eventually found himself in his old college hangouts, navigating the bars and alleyways like the back of his hand. Then he saw it. O' Sullivan's pub. The place where he met her, the place where his life truly began. He remembered everything about the night they met, from her perfume to his sweaty, nervous palms.  That night they hardly spoke, the feeling was that neither of them had to, they felt like two puzzle pieces. The fit together, forming one whole, words had nothing to do with it. They spent the night wondering the drenched Seattle streets, not caring about where they were headed, only caring that the other person was there when they got there. He quickly shook his head, as if to slam the thoughts into the sides of his skull to expel them. He opened the old wooden door and stepped into the musky air of the small pub. He breathed it all in, the liquor stained chairs, the faint smell of musty cologne, and the cracked old bar. The seats at the bar were as uncomfortable as he remembered, with just the right amount of splinters to actually bother someone sitting on them. “Can I getcha something?” the bartender's voice was thick and raspy, as if he had a very bad cold. “ A beer would be great, thanks” He looked around as the bartender poured out his drink. “Busy day?” He asked. “Nah, kind of a slow day.” The bartender handed him his beer, “ Enjoy.” He took a sip of his beer as the door to the bar squealed open, and a figure stepped through. The seat next to him pulled back and the figure sat down next to him. “ Beer please.” The voice that emanated from the figure was soft and smooth, like velvet. He froze, his beer still held in his hand in midair. Oh God he thought, it's her. Slowly, he drew in a breath with a hiss and turned to face the figure sitting next to him. Long blonde hair obscured his view of the face, he strained for a better look. “ Is there a reason you're staring at me bud?” Her face whirled to face him, and He breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't her. “ Sorry, I thought you were someone I knew.” She rolled her eyes as she started to dig through her purse. The bartender handed a beer to her, “ Thanks.” He couldn't stop looking at her, and he didn't know why. They spent the next few minutes like that, with him looking nowhere but her, and she looking everywhere but at him. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She cautiously sipped her beer, playing the nonchalant card about the man next to her that was obviously staring at her. “You know, usually when people stare at me, they at least try and get my name.” She said. “ Alright then, what's your name?” “Anya, yours?” “Jeff.” “What do you do for a living Jeff?” “Well actually, I'm kinda in between jobs right now, but I'm a writer.” “Ohh how exciting,” she chuckled. He smiled back at her, trying hard to remember the last time he had a friendly conversation with another human being. Their conversation  continued on like this for a while, with them both sharing details about their life to the other, but both never sharing anything really meaningful, but they both had a few laughs and discovered they had a similar sense of humor. As she got up to leave, she handed him a small folded slip of paper. “Anya 555-342-7865” was written on the inside of the folded side of the paper. He smiled as he watched her hail a cab and tell the driver where to go. He looked again at the slip of paper, still smiling. He wasn't really sure why he was smiling, but it felt right in this situation. He headed home, now thinking very little of her and more and more of Anya. He turned his key in his lock and headed to bed. Staring at his ceiling that night, he decided he had to see Anya again.
		The next morning he awoke from his bed, reached to his left, and still felt nothing. Looking down his arm, he saw a small slip of paper laying on his nightstand. Lifting the paper up to his sleepy eyes, he smiled. Reaching for his phone, he already had the number memorized.

title: Dial.

question: Why did Jeff's wife really leave?

answer: Jeff seems pretty shallow. He claims to be deeply hurt by her departure but he quickly forgets her when he meets a new woman in a pub just after she has left.

question: Did Jeff really care about his wife's departure or was he more concerned about having no one in his life?

answer: He seems willing to replace his wife with the first woman he runs into.

question: Does Jeff have a drinking problem?

answer: He has lost his job. His wife thinks he's worthless and when he's feeling despondent he heads for the area of town where he knows he'll find pubs open. These could be the signs of somebody with a drinking problem.

question: Where is Jeff's wife going?

answer: Somewhere out of town since she has a plane ticket. She doesn't want to run into him or have him visiting her.

question: Write a ~21 sentence summary.

answer:
Jeff feels her side of the bed as he wakes, but she’s gone. He remembers the words that will shatter his world. “I hate you, Jeff. You’re worthless” and then she’s gone, plane ticket in hand. The pain is unbearable. He can’t bring himself to accept that she has gone.

Things had never been the same since they had found out that they were barren. He is not sure whether it was then or when he lost his job that their relationship fell apart.

When they met, they’d immediately clicked. It was like his life had just started. Now he returns to O’Sullivan’s pub, where first they’d met. He orders a drink. A blonde woman enters and sits next to him. For a minute he thinks it is her. He can’t stop staring.

They introduce themselves, “Anya, Jeff” and share jokes. When Anya gets up to leave, she hands him a slip of paper with her number on it. As he heads home, he thinks less and less of his departing wife and more and more of Anya.

The next morning when he wakes, he feels the empty space. He reaches for his phone. He’s already memorised the number.