Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
that had meant so much to him when he was tied to his wheelchair and couldn't do anything but wait and think. For instance, a scrubby little terrier followed him home from Twin Palms one day and Ethel let him keep it. He fed the pup and washed it to remember charlie by by ... Roger Dee Just a one-eyed dog named Charlie and a crippled boy named defense mechanism, Doc says, against the disappointments of this life. When school opened again in the fall Ethel sold her trailer and got a job in Tampa where Joey could walk to school instead of going by bus. When they were gone the Twin Palms trailer court was so lonesome and Joey—but between them they changed the face of the universe ... perhaps. the Twin Palms trailer court and the palmetto flats to the Tampa parked our trailer at the Twin Palms court. I'd nearly stumbled over Joey that time too, but he wasn't moving stars then. He was just staring ahead of him, waiting. He'd been sitting in his wheelchair at the west end of the carpet-grass strip, staring out over the palmetto flats toward the from living on the Florida coast where you hear a hundred different accents every day. "Let the boy alone." Doc put the snapper steaks to cook. He told me more about our neighbors while we killed the beer. The Ponds were permanent residents. The kid—his name was Joey and he was Doc frowned at his plate. "The kid had a dog named Charlie, a big shaggy mutt with only one eye and no love for anybody but the boy. The dog isn't coming home. He was run down by a car on the highway while Joey was hospitalized with polio." "Tough," I said, thinking of the kid sitting out there all day in his staying long at the Twin Palms trailer court. It wasn't a very about what was wrong with the world. Then, just when we'd got life looking its screwball funniest with our arguments one or the other of us would look out the window and see Joey Pond in his wheelchair, waiting for a one-eyed dog named Charlie to come trotting home across the palmetto flats. He was always there, day or night, until his psychological block. "Charlie was more than just a dog to him," Doc said. "He was a sort of symbol because he offered the kid two things that no one else in the world could—security and independence. With Charlie keeping him company he felt secure, and he was independent of the kids who could run and play because he had Charlie to play with. If he took another dog now he'd be giving up more than Charlie. He'd be giving up point in living." I could see it when Doc put it that way. The dog had spent more time with Joey than Ethel had, and the kid felt as safe with him as he'd have been with a platoon of Marines. And Charlie, being a one-man dog, had depended on Joey for the affection he wouldn't take from anybody else. The dog needed Joey and Joey needed him. Together, they'd been a natural. At first I thought it was funny that Joey never complained or cried when Charlie didn't come home, but Doc explained that it was all a part of this psychological block business. If Joey cried he'd be admitting that Charlie was lost. So he waited and watched, secure in his belief that Charlie would return. The Ponds got used to Doc and me being around, but they never got what you'd call intimate. Joey would laugh at some of the droll things Doc said, but his eyes always went back to the palmetto flats and the highway, looking for Charlie. And he never let anything interfere with point to ride back by way of the Pond trailer and Joey would stop him and ask if he's seen anything of a one-eyed dog on his route that day. Old Cloehessey would lean on his bike and take off his sun helmet and fellow had two eyes on him. 'Twasn't Charlie." Then he'd pedal away, shaking his head. Later on the handyman would come around to swap sanitary tanks under the trailers and Joey would ask him the same question. Once a month the power company sent out a I knew what he meant and wished I didn't. Ethel had finally told the kid that Charlie wasn't coming back, not ever. That's why I was worried about Joey when I came home the next evening enough to be pinned to a wheelchair without being able to wiggle so much as a toe. But to lose his dog in the bargain.... "Books for Joey," Doc said. "Ethel and I agreed this morning that the boy needs another interest to occupy his time now, and since he can't Charlie up on the highway and taken him away. It was a good enough story. Joey still didn't know that Charlie was dead, but his waiting was over because no dog could be expected to find his way home from Michigan. "We've got to give the boy another interest," Doc said, putting away the books and puncturing another beer can. "Joey has a remarkable talent for concentration—most handicapped children have—that could "Maybe we ought to look for another interest in life ourselves instead of drumming up one for Joey," Doc said. He meant it as a joke but it had a shaky sound "Something besides getting beered up every night, the Dog Star—hadn't moved, which puzzled the astronomers no end. I suggested to Doc, only half joking, that maybe the Pup had stayed put because it wasn't bright enough to suit Joey's taste, but Doc called me down sharp. I pointed out. "I'm not saying that Joey really moved those damn stars, Doc, but if he did he could have moved the light along with them, couldn't he?" But Doc wouldn't argue the point. "I'm going out for air," he said. I trailed along, but we didn't get farther than Joey's wheelchair. There he sat, tense and absorbed, staring up at the night sky. Doc and I followed his gaze, the way you do automatically when somebody on the night before. The pattern they made still didn't look like anything in particular. I left Doc shaking his head at the sky and went over to give Joey, who had called it a night and was hand-rolling his wheelchair toward the Pond trailer, a boost up the entrance ramp. I pushed him inside where "You'll know when I'm through," he said. I told Doc about that after we'd bunked in, but he said I should not encourage the kid in his crazy thinking. "Joey's heard everybody talking about those stars moving, the radio newscasters blared about it, so he's excited too. But he's got a lot more imagination than most people, because he's a cripple, and he could go off on a crazy tangent because he's upset about Charlie. The thing to do is give him a there. So how do they know that whoever put them there won't move them again? I've always heard that if a man had faith enough he could move mountains. Well, if a man has the faith in himself that Joey's got line worn threadbare by three hundred years of repetition but as apt tonight as ever, Roy. Do you really believe Joey is moving those stars?" I got home a little earlier than usual that night, just before it got really dark. Joey was sitting as usual all alone in his wheelchair. In I didn't know what to say to him, thinking maybe I'd better not mention the stars. But Joey spoke first. It's a pity things don't happen in life like they do in books, because a first-class story could be made out of Joey Pond's knack for moving things by looking at them. In a book Joey might have saved the world or destroyed it, depending on which line would interest the most a gang of other kids on Sundays. School opened up a whole new world to Joey and he fitted himself into the routine as neat as if he'd been doing it all his life. He learned

<question>:
What do all of the residents of the Twin Palms trailer court all seem to have in common

<options>:
A They all have substance abuse issues.
B They are all broken or damaged in some way.
C They are all transient.
D They all rally around Joey to help him cope with the loss of his dog.

<answer>:

B