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stringclasses 29
values | domain
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dict | context
stringlengths 1.45k
2.44k
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stringlengths 3
185
| question_type
stringclasses 9
values | answers
list | correct_answer_id
int32 0
3
| constituency_depth
int64 3
22
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
f119_12
|
f119
|
12
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
Sondra arrived at 1:00 PM sharp. Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn was located on Highway 87, north of town. She was not impressed. It was nothing but a huge commercial metal building with the name painted in big lettering across the front. There were about fifteen cars in the small gravel parking lot--mostly older models like hers.
She walked in, and saw a line of people standing at a closed office door. Clearly, they were band members waiting to register for an audition. A couple of the guys had their electric guitars strapped on their backs.
Sondra was quite familiar with Billy-Eye and his two sons. She'd eaten her share of Buttard Biscuits growing up. And she still remembered the time in high school when Craig walked up to her in the hallway and asked her for a date. She had nearly laughed in his face. He was just a kid--three grades below her.
A couple of years later, when she found out about his reputation as a stud, she wished she had accepted his offer. She would have given the little punk the ride of his life.
While she was still thinking about Craig, the office door opened, and he walked out.
He glanced at the long line of rockers. "Okay, we're about to get started, Guys." Then he spotted Sondra at the back of the line. The blonde six-footer was not easy to miss.
"Sondra Crench? Is that you?" He walked up to her.
"How are you, Craig?"
"Well, I'm impressed that you remember me. So, you're here to sign up?"
"Yeah."
He checked out the young men standing in front of her. "Are these guys with you?"
"No."
"Well, where's your band?"
"I'm working on it."
"Follow me."
She hesitated. There were at least thirty people in front of her in line.
"Come on," he insisted.
She followed him into the office.
|
What is probably true about Craig?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"He is in a band",
"He is friends with the other rockers in line",
"not enough information",
"He still thinks Sondra is attractive"
] | 3 | 8 |
f119_13
|
f119
|
13
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
Sondra arrived at 1:00 PM sharp. Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn was located on Highway 87, north of town. She was not impressed. It was nothing but a huge commercial metal building with the name painted in big lettering across the front. There were about fifteen cars in the small gravel parking lot--mostly older models like hers.
She walked in, and saw a line of people standing at a closed office door. Clearly, they were band members waiting to register for an audition. A couple of the guys had their electric guitars strapped on their backs.
Sondra was quite familiar with Billy-Eye and his two sons. She'd eaten her share of Buttard Biscuits growing up. And she still remembered the time in high school when Craig walked up to her in the hallway and asked her for a date. She had nearly laughed in his face. He was just a kid--three grades below her.
A couple of years later, when she found out about his reputation as a stud, she wished she had accepted his offer. She would have given the little punk the ride of his life.
While she was still thinking about Craig, the office door opened, and he walked out.
He glanced at the long line of rockers. "Okay, we're about to get started, Guys." Then he spotted Sondra at the back of the line. The blonde six-footer was not easy to miss.
"Sondra Crench? Is that you?" He walked up to her.
"How are you, Craig?"
"Well, I'm impressed that you remember me. So, you're here to sign up?"
"Yeah."
He checked out the young men standing in front of her. "Are these guys with you?"
"No."
"Well, where's your band?"
"I'm working on it."
"Follow me."
She hesitated. There were at least thirty people in front of her in line.
"Come on," he insisted.
She followed him into the office.
|
Who had an electric guitar?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"Sondra",
"Craig",
"not enough information",
"A couple of guys in line"
] | 3 | 5 |
f119_14
|
f119
|
14
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
Sondra arrived at 1:00 PM sharp. Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn was located on Highway 87, north of town. She was not impressed. It was nothing but a huge commercial metal building with the name painted in big lettering across the front. There were about fifteen cars in the small gravel parking lot--mostly older models like hers.
She walked in, and saw a line of people standing at a closed office door. Clearly, they were band members waiting to register for an audition. A couple of the guys had their electric guitars strapped on their backs.
Sondra was quite familiar with Billy-Eye and his two sons. She'd eaten her share of Buttard Biscuits growing up. And she still remembered the time in high school when Craig walked up to her in the hallway and asked her for a date. She had nearly laughed in his face. He was just a kid--three grades below her.
A couple of years later, when she found out about his reputation as a stud, she wished she had accepted his offer. She would have given the little punk the ride of his life.
While she was still thinking about Craig, the office door opened, and he walked out.
He glanced at the long line of rockers. "Okay, we're about to get started, Guys." Then he spotted Sondra at the back of the line. The blonde six-footer was not easy to miss.
"Sondra Crench? Is that you?" He walked up to her.
"How are you, Craig?"
"Well, I'm impressed that you remember me. So, you're here to sign up?"
"Yeah."
He checked out the young men standing in front of her. "Are these guys with you?"
"No."
"Well, where's your band?"
"I'm working on it."
"Follow me."
She hesitated. There were at least thirty people in front of her in line.
"Come on," he insisted.
She followed him into the office.
|
Why was Craig impressed?
|
Causality
|
[
"not enough information",
"Because Sondra remembered who he was",
"Because he had gone on a date with Sondra",
"Because he had a reputation as a stud"
] | 1 | 5 |
f119_15
|
f119
|
15
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
Sondra arrived at 1:00 PM sharp. Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn was located on Highway 87, north of town. She was not impressed. It was nothing but a huge commercial metal building with the name painted in big lettering across the front. There were about fifteen cars in the small gravel parking lot--mostly older models like hers.
She walked in, and saw a line of people standing at a closed office door. Clearly, they were band members waiting to register for an audition. A couple of the guys had their electric guitars strapped on their backs.
Sondra was quite familiar with Billy-Eye and his two sons. She'd eaten her share of Buttard Biscuits growing up. And she still remembered the time in high school when Craig walked up to her in the hallway and asked her for a date. She had nearly laughed in his face. He was just a kid--three grades below her.
A couple of years later, when she found out about his reputation as a stud, she wished she had accepted his offer. She would have given the little punk the ride of his life.
While she was still thinking about Craig, the office door opened, and he walked out.
He glanced at the long line of rockers. "Okay, we're about to get started, Guys." Then he spotted Sondra at the back of the line. The blonde six-footer was not easy to miss.
"Sondra Crench? Is that you?" He walked up to her.
"How are you, Craig?"
"Well, I'm impressed that you remember me. So, you're here to sign up?"
"Yeah."
He checked out the young men standing in front of her. "Are these guys with you?"
"No."
"Well, where's your band?"
"I'm working on it."
"Follow me."
She hesitated. There were at least thirty people in front of her in line.
"Come on," he insisted.
She followed him into the office.
|
Why was Sondra at Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn?
|
Causality
|
[
"To audition",
"to dance",
"not enough information",
"to get a job as a waitress"
] | 0 | 7 |
f119_16
|
f119
|
16
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
Sondra arrived at 1:00 PM sharp. Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn was located on Highway 87, north of town. She was not impressed. It was nothing but a huge commercial metal building with the name painted in big lettering across the front. There were about fifteen cars in the small gravel parking lot--mostly older models like hers.
She walked in, and saw a line of people standing at a closed office door. Clearly, they were band members waiting to register for an audition. A couple of the guys had their electric guitars strapped on their backs.
Sondra was quite familiar with Billy-Eye and his two sons. She'd eaten her share of Buttard Biscuits growing up. And she still remembered the time in high school when Craig walked up to her in the hallway and asked her for a date. She had nearly laughed in his face. He was just a kid--three grades below her.
A couple of years later, when she found out about his reputation as a stud, she wished she had accepted his offer. She would have given the little punk the ride of his life.
While she was still thinking about Craig, the office door opened, and he walked out.
He glanced at the long line of rockers. "Okay, we're about to get started, Guys." Then he spotted Sondra at the back of the line. The blonde six-footer was not easy to miss.
"Sondra Crench? Is that you?" He walked up to her.
"How are you, Craig?"
"Well, I'm impressed that you remember me. So, you're here to sign up?"
"Yeah."
He checked out the young men standing in front of her. "Are these guys with you?"
"No."
"Well, where's your band?"
"I'm working on it."
"Follow me."
She hesitated. There were at least thirty people in front of her in line.
"Come on," he insisted.
She followed him into the office.
|
Sondra waited in line probably for
|
Event_duration
|
[
"an hour",
"5 hours",
"not enough information",
"a few minutes"
] | 3 | 6 |
f119_17
|
f119
|
17
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
Sondra arrived at 1:00 PM sharp. Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn was located on Highway 87, north of town. She was not impressed. It was nothing but a huge commercial metal building with the name painted in big lettering across the front. There were about fifteen cars in the small gravel parking lot--mostly older models like hers.
She walked in, and saw a line of people standing at a closed office door. Clearly, they were band members waiting to register for an audition. A couple of the guys had their electric guitars strapped on their backs.
Sondra was quite familiar with Billy-Eye and his two sons. She'd eaten her share of Buttard Biscuits growing up. And she still remembered the time in high school when Craig walked up to her in the hallway and asked her for a date. She had nearly laughed in his face. He was just a kid--three grades below her.
A couple of years later, when she found out about his reputation as a stud, she wished she had accepted his offer. She would have given the little punk the ride of his life.
While she was still thinking about Craig, the office door opened, and he walked out.
He glanced at the long line of rockers. "Okay, we're about to get started, Guys." Then he spotted Sondra at the back of the line. The blonde six-footer was not easy to miss.
"Sondra Crench? Is that you?" He walked up to her.
"How are you, Craig?"
"Well, I'm impressed that you remember me. So, you're here to sign up?"
"Yeah."
He checked out the young men standing in front of her. "Are these guys with you?"
"No."
"Well, where's your band?"
"I'm working on it."
"Follow me."
She hesitated. There were at least thirty people in front of her in line.
"Come on," he insisted.
She followed him into the office.
|
How long does Sondra probably know Billy-Eye?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"She just met him",
"She knows his for few years",
"She does not know him",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 6 |
f120_0
|
f120
|
0
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
What does Greg think about kids being forced into playing music?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"He hates it.",
"not enough information",
"He thinks it makes kids happy.",
"He thinks they are protecting their children from calluses."
] | 0 | 13 |
f120_1
|
f120
|
1
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
Why will Greg probably regret the party?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"not enough information",
"he will have guitar practice",
"he does not get along with Cynthia",
"he does not like his Dad"
] | 3 | 6 |
f120_2
|
f120
|
2
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
How long has Greg probably played guitar?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"not enough information",
"For many years.",
"For a few days.",
"He just learned today."
] | 1 | 6 |
f120_3
|
f120
|
3
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
What astrological sign is Greg's dad?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"not enough information",
"Sagittarius.",
"Leo.",
"Libra."
] | 0 | 6 |
f120_4
|
f120
|
4
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
why does Greg go walking
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"to think about the party",
"not enough information",
"to decide on an instument",
"to clear his head"
] | 1 | 6 |
f120_5
|
f120
|
5
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
Where did Greg often go during break?
|
Factual
|
[
"To his dad's.",
"Coreyville Square.",
"To Cynthia's.",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 7 |
f120_6
|
f120
|
6
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
Who probably also plays guitar?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"Zach.",
"not enough information",
"Cynthia.",
"Jeffrey's mom."
] | 0 | 6 |
f120_7
|
f120
|
7
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
How long was Greg's break?
|
Factual
|
[
"All day",
"not enough information",
"Half hour",
"10 minutes"
] | 2 | 6 |
f120_8
|
f120
|
8
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
Who jumped up and ran for the door?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"Greg",
"not enough information",
"Gregs friend",
"Mr. Tenorly"
] | 0 | 7 |
f120_9
|
f120
|
9
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
Greg think
|
Belief_states
|
[
"not enough information",
"that he should stay with piano",
"that guitar is cool",
"that he will like Dad's party"
] | 2 | 4 |
f120_10
|
f120
|
10
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
Why does Greg have calluses?
|
Causality
|
[
"Because he plays guitar.",
"Because his 3:30 lesson was cancelled.",
"not enough information",
"Because he plays piano."
] | 0 | 6 |
f120_11
|
f120
|
11
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
Where does Greg probably go in a few days?
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"To his dad's birthday party.",
"To Coreyville Square.",
"not enough information",
"To Zach's house."
] | 0 | 7 |
f120_12
|
f120
|
12
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
Why Greg decided yo go to Dad's party?
|
Causality
|
[
"He bought him a guitar",
"not enough information",
"Cyntia talked him into going to Dads party",
"He did not go to the party"
] | 2 | 8 |
f120_13
|
f120
|
13
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
How long did the lesson probably last?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"one hour",
"not enough information",
"3 hours",
"10 minutes"
] | 0 | 5 |
f120_14
|
f120
|
14
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
When did Greg learn that Jeffrey's mom is forcing him to play piano?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"not enough information",
"In the morning.",
"Before the lesson.",
"After telling Jeffrey that he wasn't making much progress."
] | 3 | 13 |
f120_15
|
f120
|
15
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
After the story ends, Greg
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"gets to learn the guitar",
"starts a band with his friend",
"not enough information",
"quits taking lessons"
] | 0 | 6 |
f120_16
|
f120
|
16
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
Whose mom is forcing the child to take piano lessons?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"not enough information",
"Greg's mom.",
"Zach's mom.",
"Jeffrey's mom."
] | 3 | 9 |
f120_17
|
f120
|
17
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?"
"Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing."
"Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?"
"No, Sir."
"Well... "
"I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool."
"You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips.
"Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic."
"Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up."
"I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar."
"I'll talk to her."
"Great! I already have a guitar and--"
"--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says."
"Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door.
Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square.
But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going.
|
When Greg decided to talk to his student mom?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"not enough information",
"Before his first lesson",
"After he realized kid was forced into musicianship",
"While kid was playing guitar"
] | 2 | 10 |
f121_0
|
f121
|
0
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
Who took a big chance on leaving the final details for hi sons to handle.
|
Character_identity
|
[
"Lenny",
"not enough information",
"Bill-Eye",
"Craig"
] | 2 | 12 |
f121_1
|
f121
|
1
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
Who is Bill-Eye taking a chance on?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"his grandsons",
"his nephews",
"his sons",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 6 |
f121_2
|
f121
|
2
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
How long will the grand opening probably last for?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"24/7 for a week",
"not enough information",
"Several hours",
"24 hours"
] | 2 | 6 |
f121_3
|
f121
|
3
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
Who had done something right?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"not enough information",
"Craig.",
"Lenny.",
"Billy-Eye."
] | 1 | 7 |
f121_4
|
f121
|
4
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
What school are the high school workers from?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"not enough information",
"North River Side",
"Nework Heights",
"The Triangulators"
] | 0 | 6 |
f121_5
|
f121
|
5
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
What time did Billy-Eye arrive?
|
Factual
|
[
"not enough information",
"5:30PM.",
"After the show started.",
"5:30AM."
] | 1 | 5 |
f121_6
|
f121
|
6
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
What is likely true about Craig?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"He is responsible.",
"He makes a lot of mistakes.",
"not enough information",
"He can be counted on."
] | 1 | 9 |
f121_7
|
f121
|
7
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
Why was Billy-Eye proud?
|
Causality
|
[
"Because the boys had set everything up themselves.",
"Because the show was sold out.",
"Because the Triangulators sounded great.",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 5 |
f121_8
|
f121
|
8
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
How long will each band probably play for?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"Twenty minutes.",
"not enough information",
"Three hours.",
"Five hours."
] | 0 | 6 |
f121_9
|
f121
|
9
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
What will the second band do when the Triangulators are finished?
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"They will break the Triangulators' guitars.",
"They will knock over the Triangulators' drum kit.",
"not enough information",
"They will write their own name there."
] | 3 | 9 |
f121_10
|
f121
|
10
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
When was the refrigerator stocked?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"not enough information",
"Before the Grand Opening.",
"After the Grand Opening started.",
"After Billy-Eye arrived."
] | 1 | 5 |
f121_11
|
f121
|
11
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
Why Bill-Eye liked how Arcade and Dance Barn was prepared?
|
Causality
|
[
"popcorn machine was not there",
"Grand opening was well organized",
"He had to pay eleven bands to perform",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 9 |
f121_12
|
f121
|
12
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
When Bill-Eye visits the Arcade and Dance Barn
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"one day after the party",
"after waiting for one week",
"one month before his birthday",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 7 |
f121_13
|
f121
|
13
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
Where was the ad for the grand opening?
|
Factual
|
[
"newspaper",
"television",
"radio",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 7 |
f121_14
|
f121
|
14
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
Who is the second band?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"The Arcade.",
"The Bugs.",
"not enough information",
"The Christmas Trees."
] | 2 | 6 |
f121_15
|
f121
|
15
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
Who probably wants to impress Bill-Eye?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"not enough information",
"His sons",
"The Triangulators",
"The high school workers"
] | 1 | 9 |
f121_16
|
f121
|
16
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
When will the second band put their name on the board?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"not enough information",
"After the competition.",
"Before the Triangulators play.",
"After the Triangulators play."
] | 3 | 7 |
f121_17
|
f121
|
17
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
Who thinks the games should have been free?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"not enough information",
"Lenny.",
"Craig.",
"Billy-Eye."
] | 1 | 10 |
f121_18
|
f121
|
18
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
Who stocked the refrigerator?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"Daddy.",
"The boys, Craig and Lenny.",
"not enough information",
"Billy-Eye."
] | 1 | 6 |
f121_19
|
f121
|
19
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson",
"title": "Fly the Rain",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Fly_the_Rain/0.html"
}
|
"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn.
The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board.
"Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right.
"So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye.
"Sure," said Lenny with a naïve smile.
"Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad."
"Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny.
"Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?"
"Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy."
"And the soda fountains?"
"Ready to go."
"And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys."
|
Right after the end of this text Billy-Eye
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"Will order pizza",
"Will have a great time at his grand opening",
"Will call Lenny",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 7 |
f122_0
|
f122
|
0
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
Who crossed the street?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"A middle aged man.",
"A group of tourists",
"not enough information",
"The woman."
] | 3 | 6 |
f122_1
|
f122
|
1
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
After the sun set where was she heading?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"not enough information",
"grab a drink",
"out to eat",
"meet a friend"
] | 0 | 7 |
f122_2
|
f122
|
2
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
Why did the taxi driver honk?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"The crowds were moving too slow.",
"not enough information",
"He was picking up a passenger.",
"She walked in front of the taxi."
] | 3 | 5 |
f122_3
|
f122
|
3
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
How long did it probably take her to get across the street?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"not enough information",
"Just a few seconds.",
"More than 5 minutes.",
"She never made it across the street."
] | 1 | 10 |
f122_4
|
f122
|
4
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
What was bothering her?
|
Factual
|
[
"not enough information",
"Men staring at her chest.",
"A nagging feeling in the back of her brain.",
"Heavy foot traffic of tourists"
] | 2 | 7 |
f122_5
|
f122
|
5
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
Afte this story ends, she is
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"Foolowed her intuition",
"continued to Duval Street",
"not enough information",
"followed the general flow of tourist"
] | 0 | 6 |
f122_6
|
f122
|
6
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
When did she go to Mallory Square?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"During her lunch",
"not enough information",
"Before sunset",
"After the sunset"
] | 3 | 7 |
f122_7
|
f122
|
7
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
What is she wearing?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"not enough information",
"A sundress and strappy sandals.",
"Shorts and a t-shirt.",
"A business suit and heels."
] | 0 | 5 |
f122_8
|
f122
|
8
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
When she moved through the crowded streets?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"One hour after the sun had set.",
"not enough information",
"At the afternoon when sun felt warm on her back.",
"When the morning breeze was blowing through her hair."
] | 0 | 7 |
f122_9
|
f122
|
9
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
Why were the men staring at her?
|
Causality
|
[
"because of her bosom",
"because she needed to get past the group of men",
"because she was smiling",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 7 |
f122_10
|
f122
|
10
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
The main character thinks
|
Belief_states
|
[
"she will find a husband",
"not enough information",
"she will prosper",
"she will own this place"
] | 3 | 4 |
f122_11
|
f122
|
11
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
How long the narrator probably looked for her place?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"Few hours",
"Few month",
"Just one day",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 7 |
f122_12
|
f122
|
12
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
What does narrator feel?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"There's no limit to what she can have.",
"not enough information",
"She can get any man in the bar to buy her a drink.",
"Any shirt she wants from the storefront window."
] | 0 | 5 |
f122_13
|
f122
|
13
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
Who stepped out in front of a purple taxi cab?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"a man who was staring at her",
"not enough information",
"a pedestrian leaving a restaurant",
"main character"
] | 3 | 9 |
f122_14
|
f122
|
14
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
Why was she probably intimidating?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"not enough information",
"because she was wearing a new outfit",
"because of her self confidence",
"because it was a group of men"
] | 2 | 5 |
f122_15
|
f122
|
15
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
Why she changed her plan?
|
Causality
|
[
"She spotted a taxi.",
"The streets were too crowded with pedestrians.",
"She felt something wasn't right.",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 6 |
f122_16
|
f122
|
16
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
What did she know very well?
|
Factual
|
[
"the restaurants",
"the bars",
"the streets",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 6 |
f122_17
|
f122
|
17
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men.
Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time.
But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window.
|
After this story, how does she feel about her chance of success?
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"not enough information",
"Nervous",
"Confident",
"Hesitant"
] | 2 | 9 |
f123_0
|
f123
|
0
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
Why was Crooked Pete's only half full?
|
Causality
|
[
"The real crowd and the regulars would come later",
"not enough information",
"because the Booty Hunt hadn't started",
"because Sandee hadn't emerged from the bathroom"
] | 0 | 6 |
f123_1
|
f123
|
1
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
Right after the end of this story
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"The party will be over",
"not enough information",
"Paul and Sandee will have more drinks.",
"They will visit Key West"
] | 2 | 6 |
f123_2
|
f123
|
2
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
The tourists had been at the bar probably for:
|
Event_duration
|
[
"for 10 minutes.",
"not enough information",
"10 hours",
"Few hours"
] | 3 | 7 |
f123_3
|
f123
|
3
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
What is likely about Sandee?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"Sandee doesn't like to wear tight dresses",
"Sandee is very attractive.",
"not enough information",
"Sandee is dressed like a pirate."
] | 1 | 8 |
f123_4
|
f123
|
4
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
Sandee winked at a tourist:
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"not enough information",
"after the bar hit its stride",
"after emerging from the bathroom",
"after the ice melted in her drink"
] | 2 | 6 |
f123_5
|
f123
|
5
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
Is Paul an artist for a living?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"No, only a hobby.",
"not enough information",
"He freelances sometimes.",
"Yes."
] | 1 | 5 |
f123_6
|
f123
|
6
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
Who was wearing a black mini-dress?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"A tourist.",
"not enough information",
"Paul.",
"Sandee"
] | 3 | 6 |
f123_7
|
f123
|
7
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
The Booty Hunt probably lasted:
|
Event_duration
|
[
"only for a few minutes",
"not enough information",
"all night",
"about an hour"
] | 2 | 4 |
f123_8
|
f123
|
8
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
At the end of this story, who went home with Sandee after they left the bar?
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"Paul",
"barhopping buccaneers",
"not enough information",
"the tourist"
] | 0 | 11 |
f123_9
|
f123
|
9
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
What did Sandy drink?
|
Factual
|
[
"something hot",
"something salty",
"something spicy",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 5 |
f123_10
|
f123
|
10
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
What did Raynolds draw on the napkin?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"not enough information",
"pistols",
"pirates",
"parrots"
] | 0 | 7 |
f123_11
|
f123
|
11
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
Who did the tourist think was attractive?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"Pirates",
"Paul",
"Sandee",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 9 |
f123_12
|
f123
|
12
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
When was Paul doodling on the napkin?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"While he was drinking.",
"Before he went to Key West.",
"not enough information",
"After he met Pete."
] | 0 | 7 |
f123_13
|
f123
|
13
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
What did Paul say missed Sandy most?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"not enough information",
"Paul.",
"Her drink.",
"The Tourist."
] | 2 | 8 |
f123_14
|
f123
|
14
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
Why was Paul kind of embarrassed?
|
Causality
|
[
"He had fun at the Booty Hunt.",
"not enough information",
"His drawing was not very good.",
"A tourist ogled Sandee."
] | 0 | 5 |
f123_15
|
f123
|
15
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
Who wondered where his drinking companion had gone to?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"Sandee",
"Paul Reynolds",
"the tourist",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 10 |
f123_16
|
f123
|
16
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
What did people do an a Booty Hunt?
|
Factual
|
[
"Bar crawl.",
"Search for hidden treasure.",
"Look at people's private residences.",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 6 |
f123_17
|
f123
|
17
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents.
|
Who does Paul find likely to be attractive?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"Pete",
"not enough information",
"Margarita",
"Sandee"
] | 3 | 11 |
f124_0
|
f124
|
0
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
Chloe probably were cleaning the house for:
|
Event_duration
|
[
"not enough information",
"Few minutes",
"She just arrived",
"Few hours"
] | 3 | 6 |
f124_1
|
f124
|
1
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
How long will it probably take the Guidarizzi's to get to Key West?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"A few hours.",
"not enough information",
"A few minutes.",
"A few days."
] | 0 | 10 |
f124_2
|
f124
|
2
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
What is probably true about Chloe?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"not enough information",
"She has a close relationship with Paul",
"She is angry that Paul is making her do so much work",
"She is a member of the Guidarizzi family"
] | 1 | 8 |
f124_3
|
f124
|
3
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
What does Chloe think about the Guidarizzi's coming?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"She is ambivalent.",
"She is pissed.",
"She is excited.",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 8 |
f124_4
|
f124
|
4
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
Where do the Guidarizzi's live?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"not enough information",
"Wyoming.",
"New York.",
"California."
] | 0 | 5 |
f124_5
|
f124
|
5
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
How did Chloe probably get to the house?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"She took a bus.",
"She drove her Vespa.",
"not enough information",
"Paul brought her."
] | 1 | 7 |
f124_6
|
f124
|
6
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
Who is cleaning?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"Paul.",
"not enough information",
"The Guidarizzi's.",
"Chloe."
] | 3 | 5 |
f124_7
|
f124
|
7
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
Why is Chloe cleaning the house?
|
Causality
|
[
"Because the Guidarizzi's are visiting earlier than expected",
"Because Chloe likes to clean",
"not enough information",
"Because Paul just entered the house"
] | 0 | 6 |
f124_8
|
f124
|
8
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
When Chloe began mopping
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"Before Paul came in",
"not enough information",
"After Paul arrived",
"When Guidarizzi left"
] | 0 | 7 |
f124_9
|
f124
|
9
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
What is making Chloe so angry?
|
Factual
|
[
"The Guidarizzi's winter home is the only house available",
"She hates doing housework",
"Paul walked in on her while she was working",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 7 |
f124_10
|
f124
|
10
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
Who is the house cleaned for?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"Chloe",
"not enough information",
"Guidarizzi's",
"Paul"
] | 2 | 6 |
f124_11
|
f124
|
11
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
Paul is Chloe's:
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"Romantic interest",
"not enough information",
"Boss",
"Sibling"
] | 1 | 5 |
f124_12
|
f124
|
12
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
Where does Chloe live?
|
Factual
|
[
"Orlando.",
"Miami.",
"Key West.",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 5 |
f124_13
|
f124
|
13
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
After this section of the story, Paul:
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"Sympathizes with Chloe about how much work they have to do",
"Offers to make lunch for the both of them",
"not enough information",
"Yells at Chloe for complaining too much"
] | 0 | 7 |
f124_14
|
f124
|
14
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
What will Paul do after this?
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"He will go to Guidarizzi's",
"He will order pizza.",
"not enough information",
"He will help Chloe to clean."
] | 3 | 7 |
f124_15
|
f124
|
15
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
Why is Chloe mopping?
|
Causality
|
[
"Because Paul is coming.",
"Because it is her house.",
"Because the Guidarizzi's are coming.",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 5 |
f124_16
|
f124
|
16
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
Chloe believes that the house:
|
Belief_states
|
[
"Is poorly decorated and needs airing out",
"not enough information",
"Might be mistaken as her own house",
"Is taking too much work to clean"
] | 0 | 6 |
f124_17
|
f124
|
17
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
The classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe's rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.
Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week's work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she'd been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.
She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn't his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn't even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.
"What are you doing?" asked Paul, closing the door behind him.
"Mopping," she said, her voice flat.
"Right. But why are you mopping here? Whose house is this anyway?"
"It's one we just added to the roster last week. The cleaning service hasn't had a chance to get in here yet."
"I see that," said Paul. "So why're you cleaning it tonight?"
"We're cleaning it tonight because the Guidarizzi's decided to make a surprise visit to their winter home in Key West. They're coming in tomorrow afternoon. Every other decent place is filled up, so we have to use this one instead."
|
When did Chloe arrive at the house?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"not enough information",
"Before Paul.",
"After Paul.",
"After the Guidarizzi's."
] | 1 | 7 |
f125_0
|
f125
|
0
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
Back at their house by the cemetery, Paul and Chloe found Bee in her room, what Paul referred to as her sanctum sanctorum - although no one else ever got the joke, and he refused to explain the comic book reference. As always, lighting was minimal (as opposed to Bee's workshop out behind the house, which was flooded with fluorescents). A bank of TV sets and computer monitors covered one whole wall, arranged on a precarious system of metal shelves that Bee had installed herself. A low, flat coffee table squatted below the glowing displays, supporting three keyboards, a bank of video editing tools and four different phone carriages. Bee sat in her accustomed place - in the midst of a pile of cushions on the floor, fiddling with a mouse in one hand and typing on one of the keyboards while she talked quietly into her headset.
Paul and Chloe didn't bother to knock as they came in - Bee already knew they were there. Paul glanced at one of the screens mounted on the wall. Its display, divided into four quadrants, showed various images from inside the house, including the front door they'd just come through and the stairs they'd just climbed. The screen next to it - which Paul himself had salvaged from a bar on Duval that'd recently renovated into a finedining restaurant - showed images from four other cameras that covered the house's exterior. Nothing happened within fifty yards of their Crew's house that Bee didn't see, and if she had her way, that omniscience would soon extend to cover the entire island.
"So, Bee, how goes Project Big Brother?" Paul asked.
"I wish you wouldn't call it that," she replied.
"Sorry, but I have to call it something."
"You could call it something nice. Big Brother sounds so mean."
"What's mean about a reality show?" said Paul, joking.
"What isn't bad about a reality show?" countered Chloe, stepping in to defend her friend.
|
What will Bee do when Paul and Chloe leave?
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"She will break all the monitors.",
"She will continue working in her room.",
"She will go for a swim.",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 8 |
f125_1
|
f125
|
1
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Rick Dakan",
"title": "Geek Mafia: Mile Zero",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/dakanrother07geek_mafia_mile_zero/0.html"
}
|
Back at their house by the cemetery, Paul and Chloe found Bee in her room, what Paul referred to as her sanctum sanctorum - although no one else ever got the joke, and he refused to explain the comic book reference. As always, lighting was minimal (as opposed to Bee's workshop out behind the house, which was flooded with fluorescents). A bank of TV sets and computer monitors covered one whole wall, arranged on a precarious system of metal shelves that Bee had installed herself. A low, flat coffee table squatted below the glowing displays, supporting three keyboards, a bank of video editing tools and four different phone carriages. Bee sat in her accustomed place - in the midst of a pile of cushions on the floor, fiddling with a mouse in one hand and typing on one of the keyboards while she talked quietly into her headset.
Paul and Chloe didn't bother to knock as they came in - Bee already knew they were there. Paul glanced at one of the screens mounted on the wall. Its display, divided into four quadrants, showed various images from inside the house, including the front door they'd just come through and the stairs they'd just climbed. The screen next to it - which Paul himself had salvaged from a bar on Duval that'd recently renovated into a finedining restaurant - showed images from four other cameras that covered the house's exterior. Nothing happened within fifty yards of their Crew's house that Bee didn't see, and if she had her way, that omniscience would soon extend to cover the entire island.
"So, Bee, how goes Project Big Brother?" Paul asked.
"I wish you wouldn't call it that," she replied.
"Sorry, but I have to call it something."
"You could call it something nice. Big Brother sounds so mean."
"What's mean about a reality show?" said Paul, joking.
"What isn't bad about a reality show?" countered Chloe, stepping in to defend her friend.
|
Who referred to an activity as "Project Big Brother?"
|
Character_identity
|
[
"Chloe",
"Paul",
"not enough information",
"Bee"
] | 1 | 9 |
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