conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a description for a book titled Interstate Dreams about Barrett, Texas, Writer with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Literary?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Writer Neal Barrett, Jr s. novels and short fiction "defy category or convention." He has written in the fields of science fiction, fantasy, mystery/suspense and "off-the wall" mainstream fiction. He has been frequently honored for his work, and was recently inducted into the Texas Institute of Letters. Barrett lives in Austin, Texas, with his wife, Ruth, and his cat, Sue Jean.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Interstate Dreams
  In the burgundy-colored van, the white man smoked and sorted colors in his head. Waited for a neat chromatic fix that might reveal the facts of life. Why cats don't seem to give a shit. Why girls don't like to fish. These would be good things to know, things that might lead to a better life for all.
  The black man drove and watched the road. Didn't just drive like an ordinary man, like a man going down to the 7-Eleven store. Junior Lewis drove with heart, drove with his soul linked directly to the road. Driving was the second best thing he liked to do.
  Dreamer didn't like to drive. He lacked dedication to the wheel, but he understood another man's needs. He liked to sit back and put his feet on the dash and watch Junior Lewis drive. Junior thought stopping off for gas was a pure aggravation, a precious waste of time. He didn't like to stop he liked to go. If a car didn't have to stop for gas, he'd drive straight through past Houston, Kansas and Fargo, North Dakota, up across the polar ice. Down the other side into Coldass, Russia, tires down to nothing, out of beer and barbecue. Rosy-cheeked girls would crowd around in furry hats. A girl with glacier eyes would say, "Hey, now, what's Junior Lewis doing here?"
  Dreamer followed this scenario a mile or maybe two, losing interest fast when the Russian girl wouldn't cash a check. Leaned back and slid down easy in his seat. Watched Houston traffic slug along through the hot oppressive night. Watched the bright sulfur-eyed fish in a hydrocarbon sea. Wondered if a nuke would clear the air. Wondered if a girl in Oklahoma knew his name.
  Dreamer watched Junior Lewis drive. Dreamer wished that he was black too. He felt he had a knack for darker skin, in spite of no talent for the dance. Junior had skin black as night. Not your common Hershey bar tone or a high yellow wimpy kind of black, but undiluted Kenya genes. In the stroboscopic light of passing cars, quicksilver washed the hard angles of his face. Dreamer thought it might be a Pharaoh's face, that Junior had likely done Egypt some time. He asked Junior once if Nefertiti rang a bell, if he had a thing for cats. Junior said he didn't know, said he couldn't quite recall.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know another paragraph?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: So what was that goddamn gangster doing there? Eileen hadn't seen him when the others came in. Didn't even see him till Dreamer and Mako squared off, nearly went at it right there.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: After that he did Blind Girl and the Biker. The Sunday papers were scattered over the floor. Mousebreath joined in the fun, hurtling through debris like a demon. Doug made Erlene go to the mirror and read WANTED: CONSTRUCTION WORKERS on her ass. He got them both beers and sat on the john while she soaked in the tub.
  Doug looked guilty, though Erlene was only partially right. He'd tried to screw Shirley, but so had everyone else. Shirley was a dead ringer for Goldie Hawn. Aimilee was tall and dark, a lazy looking woman with glazed ceramic eyes. Erlene was right about her. She'd go down on him at high noon in the shopping center if he gave her half chance, right in front of God and Safeway shoppers. Only that wouldn't happen, because Doug was scared to get near her. He knew that come-on smile hid a crazy. The invitation in her eyes was pharmaceutical at best. Her husband was a shrink, and Aimilee ate his pills like jelly beans.
  Erlene looked irritated. "I didn't say I'd get a tingle now, Doug. Did I say that? That isn't what I said you don't listen. I said I was entitled to a tingle is what I said. I said there was some men we know might turn me on if I was so inclined in that direction."
  Erlene laughed. "Just get on out of here, you old bastard. Run out and get us something to eat, okay? I don't feel like messing around in the kitchen."
  He left her soaking in the tub, grateful this was over. He took the Toyota because the air wasn't working in the Camaro. It was nearly September, but Texas isn't close to Vermont, and Houston doesn't bother with the fall. Concrete pies bake in the mega-city oven from May to October. Doug didn't care. He'd lived in year-round summer all his life and liked the heat. It felt good coming out of cold air and getting the sweats. Putting on his shades against the glare, he drove out of the lot and onto the street, past half a dozen new apartment complexes. It was hard getting home if you were drunk. They all looked just alike and had names like Navajo Cliffs and Hopi Buttes and Zuni Mesa. Some developer had been to Santa Fe or seen a picture, and there were poles sticking out of brown stucco and dead yucca plants along the drive. If you didn't like Indians, you could go a few blocks and be a Viking or a pirate.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: After that he did Blind Girl and the Biker. The Sunday papers were scattered over the floor. Mousebreath joined in the fun, hurtling through debris like a demon. Doug made Erlene go to the mirror and read WANTED: CONSTRUCTION WORKERS on her ass. He got them both beers and sat on the john while she soaked in the tub.
  Doug looked guilty, though Erlene was only partially right. He'd tried to screw Shirley, but so had everyone else. Shirley was a dead ringer for Goldie Hawn. Aimilee was tall and dark, a lazy looking woman with glazed ceramic eyes. Erlene was right about her. She'd go down on him at high noon in the shopping center if he gave her half chance, right in front of God and Safeway shoppers. Only that wouldn't happen, because Doug was scared to get near her. He knew that come-on smile hid a crazy. The invitation in her eyes was pharmaceutical at best. Her husband was a shrink, and Aimilee ate his pills like jelly beans.
  Erlene looked irritated. "I didn't say I'd get a tingle now, Doug. Did I say that? That isn't what I said you don't listen. I said I was entitled to a tingle is what I said. I said there was some men we know might turn me on if I was so inclined in that direction."
  Erlene laughed. "Just get on out of here, you old bastard. Run out and get us something to eat, okay? I don't feel like messing around in the kitchen."
  He left her soaking in the tub, grateful this was over. He took the Toyota because the air wasn't working in the Camaro. It was nearly September, but Texas isn't close to Vermont, and Houston doesn't bother with the fall. Concrete pies bake in the mega-city oven from May to October. Doug didn't care. He'd lived in year-round summer all his life and liked the heat. It felt good coming out of cold air and getting the sweats. Putting on his shades against the glare, he drove out of the lot and onto the street, past half a dozen new apartment complexes. It was hard getting home if you were drunk. They all looked just alike and had names like Navajo Cliffs and Hopi Buttes and Zuni Mesa. Some developer had been to Santa Fe or seen a picture, and there were poles sticking out of brown stucco and dead yucca plants along the drive.