Magazines Quiz 4.2.21

Make the following info into a quiz: Questions (20) Show answers 1 - Quiz I ________ this would be difficult. 20sec 2 - Quiz She ______ a good lesson. 20sec 3 - Quiz Even ________ we are tired, we can do this. 20sec 4 - Quiz That's a ______ question. I don't know the answer. 20sec 5 - Quiz Have a _______ look through your exam paper before you hand it in. 20sec 6 - Quiz I received 10 calls from your mom _____ the day - just call her back! 20sec 7 - Quiz He wore shorts even ______ it was cold. 20sec 8 - Quiz The elephant's skin is very ______. 20sec 9 - Quiz What a great _____ to bring her flowers! 20sec 10 - Quiz We drove _______ a storm. 20sec 11 - Quiz We made it ______ the first semester. 20sec 12 - Quiz I need a _____ report on the latest trends in online shopping. 20sec 13 - Quiz I liked her outfit, I didn't like her accessories _____. 20sec 14 - Quiz We were _____ a lot by the pandemic. 20sec 15 - Quiz I have never _____ about relocating. 20sec 16 - Quiz She looked ______ the magazine. 20sec 17 - Quiz We went ________ the tunnel. 20sec 18 - Quiz That was a ______ hike! I am tired. 20sec 19 - Quiz The house was renovated _____ - everything is new, even windows. 20sec 20 - Quiz Wait a moment, I'll put you _____ to the sales department.

The Pedestrian (adapted) by Ray Bradbury Mr. Leonard Mead loved to walk outside at night. The city was quiet at eight o’clock on a misty November evening. He liked to put his hands in his pockets and stroll along the cracked sidewalks, stepping over grass that grew between the concrete. He would stop at the corners, look down the empty streets, and choose which way to go. It didn’t really matter which way he picked, because he was always alone in the year 2053. Sometimes, Mr. Mead would walk for hours and miles, coming home only at midnight. As he walked, he saw houses with their windows dark, like he was walking through a graveyard. Sometimes, he saw tiny flashes of light from behind curtains or heard soft voices from open windows. Mr. Mead wore sneakers so his footsteps wouldn’t make noise. If he wore shoes with hard heels, the dogs would bark and people might look out their windows. He liked being quiet and unnoticed as he walked in the cool November air. On this night, Mr. Mead walked west, toward the sea. The air was cold and frosty, making his nose sting and his lungs feel fresh. He listened to the sound of his shoes in the fallen leaves and sometimes picked up a leaf to look at it under the streetlights. As he walked, he whispered to the houses, “Hello in there. What’s on TV tonight? Where are the cowboys? Is the cavalry coming?” But the street was silent and empty, with only his shadow moving. He checked his watch. “Eight-thirty. Is it time for a quiz show? Or a funny show?” He thought he heard laughter from a house, but nothing else happened. He kept walking, sometimes stumbling over the broken sidewalk. In all his years of walking, he had never seen another person out at night. He reached a big intersection where two highways crossed. During the day, it was full of cars, but now it was empty and quiet, like a dry riverbed. Mr. Mead turned onto a side street, heading home. Suddenly, a police car turned the corner and shined a bright light on him. He stood still, surprised by the light. A metallic voice from the car said, “Stand still. Don’t move! Put up your hands!” Mr. Mead obeyed. The police car asked, “What’s your name?” “Leonard Mead,” he answered. “What’s your job?” “I guess I’m a writer,” Mr. Mead said. The police car replied, “No profession.” Mr. Mead hadn’t written anything in years, since people didn’t buy books or magazines anymore. People just stayed inside their houses, watching TV. The car asked, “What are you doing out?” “I’m walking,” Mr. Mead said. “Walking? Just walking?” the car repeated. “Yes,” he said. “Where are you walking? Why?” “For air. To see things,” Mr. Mead answered. “Your address?” “Eleven South Saint James Street.” “Do you have air in your house? An air conditioner?” “Yes.” “Do you have a TV?” “No.” “No?” The car was quiet for a moment. “Are you married?” “No,” Mr. Mead said. “Not married,” the car said. The night was cold and quiet. “Just walking, Mr. Mead?” “Yes.” “But why?” “I told you. For air, to see, and just to walk.” “Do you do this often?” “Every night for years.” The police car was silent for a moment. Then it said, “Get in.” The back door opened. “Wait, I haven’t done anything!” Mr. Mead protested. “Get in,” the car repeated. Mr. Mead looked into the car. There was no one inside, just an empty front seat. The back seat was like a small jail cell, cold and hard. “Where are you taking me?” he asked. The car answered, “To the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies.” Mr. Mead got in. The door closed, and the car drove away through the empty streets. As they passed his house, he saw that all the lights were on. “That’s my house,” he said, but no one answered. The car drove off into the night, leaving the streets empty and silent for the rest of the cold November night.

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