Answer:
Two little holes in the side of a hill. Just as you come to the cherry-red mill.
My prefix is food. My suffix is rude. My infix comes in rounds. I keep you off the ground. What Am I?
What can be forever wound up but never annoyed?
The stack just might be sent all over. Full of what's new, yet it's nearly obsolete.
What is it something that you always have but you always leave behind?
When is it bad luck to see a black cat?