conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a story about span>the, Shape, span><span>By with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this story could be 'In the Shape of a Man'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this story.. Start with the sentence 'In the Shape of a Man
  Rad was breathing heavily from the climb and he felt apprehensive'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: In the Shape of a Man
  Rad was breathing heavily from the climb and he felt apprehensive. He thought about the fact that the reason he was visiting Wayne was to get something from him. He used to stop by just to bullshit with him, maybe every couple of months, but he hadn't seen him in almost a year. And now Rad was on a mission. He remembered trying to sell chocolate bars as a kid for his football team uniform. Discouraged, he had eaten them all instead. He remembered his dad yelling at him. The experience had soured him on selling. Still, this was for a good cause.
  Rad looked at his clipboard. He'd collected only a half-dozen signatures. But Wayne would sign. Then Rad would force himself to walk down to the El Camino near the Kmart and try and get some of the people going in there to sign. Rad wondered vaguely if Wayne knew about the effort to save the mountain from the developers. Probably not. He worked a lot of hours driving and more than likely spent his spare time working on his writing.
  Rad heard a noise from the cemetery across the street. A Mexican groundskeeper wearing a broad sombrero hat to keep the sun off himself, trimmed the weeds around the monuments with a gas powered weed whacker. The noisy machine spat out a succession of tiny puffs of oily blue smoke as the man swept it back and forth.
  The door lock buzzed and Rad pushed it open. He walked down the hall to number 7 and Wayne let him in. Wayne sat in a chrome and leather swivel chair before his computer. The TV was off. The little apartment was furnished with old and worn furniture, the kind of stuff you'd buy at the Salvation Army. But, Rad noted, it was clean, cleaner than his and Tawny's place.
  Rad nodded and sat on the couch. He looked at his reflection in the darkened TV. That was another thing about Wayne, he realized. Any other guy would have the TV on to a game or something. But Wayne hardly ever had it on. He was one hella serious guy.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Rad watched Jay and the other boys bouncing and running, their arms held up at 10 and 2 o'clock positions. Some of them, too immature to get seriously into the competition, mugged for each other whenever Father Mike looked away. A few were totally not into it, standing still and lost as the other boys played around them, then casting earnest cherubic faces at Father Mike whenever he looked their way or explained something to them, then totally ignoring or forgetting what he said a moment later and remaining rooted on the court. Rad watched it all in fascination, forgetting his tiredness, his hunger, and his pending date with Jen. The practice game was suddenly over, the kids high fiving each other as they looked around for their parents or guardians waiting to take them home.
  Father Mike went on as if Rad hadn't spoken, "Why don't you come by and we'll talk. I promise I won't lecture you. We'll just talk."
  Rad drove his mother's car down 19th Avenue and turned into the dorm complex. He found Building T easily and soon stood before the door of number eleven, surprised at how quiet it was—no music, loud laughter or talk emanated from the place. It didn't sound like a party was going on in there. Maybe Jen had gotten the address wrong. He rang the bell.
  A woman in her late twenties with her blonde hair coiled in a bun atop her head answered the door. She wore a cocktail dress and a string of pearls about her neck. Rad felt a little self-conscious at his own clothing: jeans and a tie-dyed tee shirt; he hadn't had time to go home and change. This had never been a problem when he went to Jen's; they didn't stay dressed very long anyway.
  Polly indicated the man as she and Rad approached. "This is my fiancée, Harold. We're flying out of SFO tonight to see my parents."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last paragraph.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Rad threw back his head and laughed loudly and uproariously, "Oh that's so cool! C'mon. Let's go home."