conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled Tomorrow and Tomorrow about Archive, Pittsburgh, John with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense. Start with the sentence 'In the not-too-distant future, a mysterious explosion has reduced the city of Pittsburgh to rubble and ashes'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: In the not-too-distant future, a mysterious explosion has reduced the city of Pittsburgh to rubble and ashes. A virtual-reality re-creation of it, the Archive, allows people to revisit the lost city and lost loved ones. John Blaxton, who lost his wife and unborn child, investigates deaths long since relegated to files in the Archive. Then he finds a murder victim not recorded in the Archive. Is the line between physical and virtual reality breaking down? Or is there some otherand possibly more sinisterexplanation? A very good job of keeping cyberpunk (which has lost much of its original connection to punk culture) up-to-date in its extrapolation of cybernetics and culture. --Roland Green
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first four paragraphs for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Tomorrow and Tomorrow
  Gavril and Kelly have flown in for the week. My aunt showers him with kisses. "Ma, Ma," he says, wiping wet smudges from his cheeks and forehead.
  My aunt's warm with Kelly, but formal—still measuring each other, I suppose. They can't quite connect, is all—Kelly a little too urban sophisticate, my aunt a hayseed hippie. They do their best bonding over food, Kelly a health-food obsessive and my aunt a champion of the farm-to-fork movement—they're making plans for a trip into Prague, to try a raw-food tapas bar a friend of my aunt's opened a few months ago.
  After dinner, we linger around the kitchen table with beer and wine, hunks of my aunt's honey-wheat brown bread and sharp cheese. It's started to snow—icy flurries that clatter against the kitchen windows. We talk until well past midnight, my aunt still awake in the other room, working on her cross-stitch, listening to Emil Viklický's piano cover of "A Love Supreme." Kelly's gone to bed hours ago, and soon Gavril says he's heading upstairs to join her.
  Helicopter shots of a sprawling farmhouse and acres of fields. Two barns, one of them on fire. A dead body's in the yard.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: five more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I wonder what changed—what gave Kucenic courage enough after he'd already abandoned me, after he was so willing to let Hannah Massey slip through the cracks? Maybe the FBI recognized the footage of Hannah's body, maybe they traced it back to his case file and demanded answers. Maybe the FBI showed up at his door with a bigger stick than Waverly.
  Phalanxes of Birmingham SWAT and the FBI assault team snake toward the house, advancing on foot behind armored trucks, eventually moving single file behind men holding steel shields. An explosion rips through the rear section of the house, a fireball that plumes toward the news helicopter covering the siege. Within minutes it's reported that one member of the Birmingham SWAT was injured in the explosion, an apparent gas leak in the house ignited by gunfire. A few minutes pass and the networks confirm a second death—a man identified as Gregor Waverly, his body recovered. Images of Gregor as a younger man, posed arm in arm with his brother.
  Fire trucks and ambulances on scene. The FBI assault team streams into the house. Within minutes they emerge with two men in custody, Rory Waverly and Theodore Waverly, though Rory is reportedly in critical condition resulting from gunshot wounds. Thirty minutes after the arrests, the governor of Alabama holds a press conference, thanking the joint work of the agencies involved. During questions from the press, he confirms that Rory Waverly has died as a result of gunshot wounds sustained in the siege.
  Every so often Hannah Massey intrudes on my dreams—I follow the slope down to the riverbed and find Hannah still alive, her body still in the river, half buried in silt. I wonder if I'll be able to save her, if I can just reach her in time, but in every iteration of this dream the river current kicks up swiftly and carries Hannah away.
  I wake one morning to news that the FBI arrested Dr. Timothy Waverly, living in a cabin outside of Tacoma, Washington, under the name of Timothy Filt. He was spotted buying groceries at a Target—facial recognition cameras matched his features despite a beard and the knit hat he wore pulled down almost to his eyes. Traffic cameras tracked his route as he drove, intersection to intersection, until a Washington state police drone locked onto his car and followed him for the hour-and-a-half drive to his cabin. Considered armed and dangerous, the Tacoma PD SWAT team led by FBI agents from the Seattle field office stormed the cabin and arrested him—there was no need for the show of force. Timothy was unarmed and surrendered peacefully.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Timothy was unarmed and surrendered peacefully.. Considered armed and dangerous, the Tacoma PD SWAT team led by FBI agents from the Seattle field office stormed the cabin and arrested him—there was no need for the show of force. Traffic cameras tracked his route as he drove, intersection to intersection, until a Washington state police drone locked onto his car and followed him for the hour-and-a-half drive to his cabin. He was spotted buying groceries at a Target—facial recognition cameras matched his features despite a beard and the knit hat he wore pulled down almost to his eyes. Timothy Waverly, living in a cabin outside of Tacoma, Washington, under the name of Timothy Filt.
  I wake one morning to news that the FBI arrested Dr. I wonder if I'll be able to save her, if I can just reach her in time, but in every iteration of this dream the river current kicks up swiftly and carries Hannah away.
  Every so often Hannah Massey intrudes on my dreams—I follow the slope down to the riverbed and find Hannah still alive, her body still in the river, half buried in silt. During questions from the press, he confirms that Rory Waverly has died as a result of gunshot wounds sustained in the siege. Thirty minutes after the arrests, the governor of Alabama holds a press conference, thanking the joint work of the agencies involved. Within minutes they emerge with two men in custody, Rory Waverly and Theodore Waverly, though Rory is reportedly in critical condition resulting from gunshot wounds. The FBI assault team streams into the house.
  Fire trucks and ambulances on scene. Images of Gregor as a younger man, posed arm in arm with his brother. A few minutes pass and the networks confirm a second death—a man identified as Gregor Waverly, his body recovered. Within minutes it's reported that one member of the Birmingham SWAT was injured in the explosion, an apparent gas leak in the house ignited by gunfire. An explosion rips through the rear section of the house, a fireball that plumes toward the news helicopter covering the siege.
  Phalanxes of Birmingham SWAT and the FBI assault team snake toward the house, advancing on foot behind armored trucks, eventually moving single file behind men holding steel shields. Maybe the FBI showed up at his door with a bigger stick than Waverly.I wonder what changed—what gave Kucenic courage enough after he'd already abandoned me, after he was so willing to let Hannah Massey slip through the cracks? Maybe the FBI recognized the footage of Hannah's body, maybe they traced it back to his case file and demanded answers
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last five paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Thank you to Matt McHenry and Guy Bialostocki, whose computer expertise helped bring a sense of realism to the Archive.
  Thank you to Pittsburgh artist Seth Clark, whose finely constructed architectural collages served as an inspiration when I imagined the type of artwork Albion might create.
  Thank you to David Gernert, Andy Kifer, Rebecca Gardner and everyone at the Gernert Company. Thank you to Sylvie Rabineau at RWSG Literary Agency.
  Thank you to everyone at the Carnegie Library for the Blind and Physically Handicapped, true friends and a second family, who I've shared my life with for twelve years.
  Thank you to my mom and dad for everything, and to Howard and Marilyn, to Jenna and James and Karen, to Tal and Jenn and Pete, and to Eloise, Amelia and Pen.