conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a plot for a book about Kiku, Hashi, Tokyo entitled Coin Locker Babies.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Coin Locker Babies: It is the surreal story of two boys, Hashi and Kiku, who were both abandoned by their mothers during infancy and locked in coin lockers at a Tokyo train station in the summer of 1972.\nBoth boys become wards of the Cherryfield Orphanage in Yokohama, where the tough and athletic Kiku comes to the defense of the slight, and often picked on, Hashi.\nThey both experience difficulties, and are given mental treatment involving playing the sound of an in utero heartbeat to them, a sound they will later search for after having forgotten it.\nThey are adopted by foster parents, the Kuwayamas (the wife is Zainichi Korean) who live on an island off Kyushu.\nAt the age of 16 both find themselves in a diseased urban wasteland in Tokyo named Toxitown.\nHashi, whose voice has a profound effect on those who hear it, becomes a bisexual rock star, employed by an eccentric producer named Hashi falls in love with his (female) manager Neva and they marry.\nKiku becomes a pole vaulter and with his girlfriend Anemone, a model who has converted her condo into a swamp for her crocodile, searches for a substance named DATURA in order to take his revenge upon the city of Tokyo and destroy it.\nAlong the way, however, in a search for Hashi's real mother, D finds a woman and arranges a meeting with Hashi on live television.\nKiku watches and sees Hashi break down, and goes to help, but ends up shooting the woman, who is actually his own mother.\nHe is sentenced to five years in prison.\nWhile Kiku is in prison, Hashi's music career grows, but he starts going mad from the stress, eventually trying to kill Neva to try and hear the sound he heard as a child.\nWhile in prison, Kiku embarks on a naval training ship, which is caught up in a storm and has to put in to land.\nHere, he and some other prisoners, Hayashi and Nakakura, make an escape and are picked up by Anenome.\nThey travel to the island of Garagi, where Kiku had read about a large quantity of DATURA being buried in the sea.\nThey go to the dive site and find the DATURA, however Nakakura takes some in and attacks Kiku and Hayashi, killing Hayashi before Kiku kills him.\nAnenome and Kiku then 'bomb' Tokyo with DATURA.\nThe book ends with a scene of Hashi, now in a mental hospital, escaping to find the city destroyed.\nHe takes in some DATURA and has an urge to destroy a woman he sees nearby, grabbing her by the mouth and trying to rip her apart, when he realises that she is his mother.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Coin Locker Babies
  Tokumaru was deep in conversation with the president of a tennis shoe company who was apparently an old friend. Their talk moved from the state of the economy to boxing to shared memories of a certain gay brothel in Rio by the name of Necropolis. And Toru, not for the first time, was complaining to D about being made to suck up to a bunch of old farts.
  When the young foreign performer had removed a number of her clothes, it became clear that while she was quite pretty, her skin had begun to sag across her stomach and down her thighs. Hashi, meanwhile, was trapped on a couch, surrounded by three women in late middle age whose faces had little drifts of fine white powder filling their wrinkles. One was squeezing a slice of lemon over a cracker heaped with caviar. The champagne had turned her earlobes bright red, and she was stealthily rubbing her thigh against Hashi's leg.
  Hashi sipped at a strong drink, wondering why he was more or less content to be sitting there with these aging women pawing at him. D had asked them to be nice to the oldsters for PR purposes and to make sure they got permission to use the right concert halls, but in Hashi's case the assignment was no trouble at all.
  By now, the skinny boy with the armful of muscle relaxant was just finishing his act and acknowledging the applause; in the course of it he had managed to fill himself with a solid gold dildo as big around as a newborn baby. And on that note the party broke up, a little after three in the morning.
  As Hashi was heading back to his room, Toru called after him: "We've got a cute little thing coming upstairs later. Why don't you join us?—once you've put Auntie to bed, that is."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Coin Locker Babies
  Tokumaru was deep in conversation with the president of a tennis shoe company who was apparently an old friend. Their talk moved from the state of the economy to boxing to shared memories of a certain gay brothel in Rio by the name of Necropolis. And Toru, not for the first time, was complaining to D about being made to suck up to a bunch of old farts.
  When the young foreign performer had removed a number of her clothes, it became clear that while she was quite pretty, her skin had begun to sag across her stomach and down her thighs. Hashi, meanwhile, was trapped on a couch, surrounded by three women in late middle age whose faces had little drifts of fine white powder filling their wrinkles. One was squeezing a slice of lemon over a cracker heaped with caviar. The champagne had turned her earlobes bright red, and she was stealthily rubbing her thigh against Hashi's leg.
  Hashi sipped at a strong drink, wondering why he was more or less content to be sitting there with these aging women pawing at him. D had asked them to be nice to the oldsters for PR purposes and to make sure they got permission to use the right concert halls, but in Hashi's case the assignment was no trouble at all.
  By now, the skinny boy with the armful of muscle relaxant was just finishing his act and acknowledging the applause; in the course of it he had managed to fill himself with a solid gold dildo as big around as a newborn baby. And on that note the party broke up, a little after three in the morning.
  As Hashi was heading back to his room, Toru called after him: "We've got a cute little thing coming upstairs later. Why don't you join us?—once you've put Auntie to bed, that is.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me three more paragraphs.. End with the sentence ' As they settled in, Kiku noticed that Yamane was sweating heavily, and though his skin usually looked like a sheet of plastic, it was wrinkled with pain.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: They had managed to pull seven crew members from the pirate fishing boat, all of whom were now huddled shivering in one corner of the hold, making the limited space more cramped than ever. Nearly all of them had an injury of one sort or another. The bunk frame in the center of the hold had collapsed at some point from the pitching of the ship and the weight of the men, leaving them nowhere to sit. Thus, the entire group had been standing knee-deep in a fragrant stew of oil, salt water, and puke while the powers-that-be argued about their fate. Nor did being anchored to the seawall stop the rocking in the hold. At first, the excitement of the rescue had kept spirits high, but as time went by, fewer and fewer voices answered when the captain or the guards came to yell encouragement down the hatch. The rocking went on, milder but still inescapable, punctuated now and then by a tremendous lurch. For what it was worth, they held on to what remained of the bunk frame, but several men had slumped to the floor from exhaustion, settling into the soup. Their faces, peering up from a pool of bilge, might at one time have been funny, but nobody felt much like laughing. Sealed off from the outside, the hold was like a hermetic globe with its own tepid, nauseating ebb and flow.
  As they climbed on deck, cheering and hugging one another, they came face to face with their welcoming party: a jeep equipped with a spotlight, two rows of policemen, and a small crowd of fishermen who were staring, pointing, and whispering among themselves. They were then herded onto a truck where each of them was given a blanket, while the foreign fishermen climbed into the jeep and were driven off elsewhere. But the truck stayed put, delayed apparently by the man in charge of them complaining that they hadn't received the change of clothing they'd been promised.
  The entrance to the warehouse, a gray building at one end of the harbor, was too low to pass through without bending over, yet the interior was the size of several gymnasiums. Most of the space, however, was stacked to the ceiling with bags of cement, leaving them only enough room in one corner, next to a row of forklifts, to spread some newspaper and lie down. As they settled in, Kiku noticed that Yamane was sweating heavily, and though his skin usually looked like a sheet of plastic, it was wrinkled with pain.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.. Start with the sentence 'Leaving the school, he passed down a narrow street lined with shops'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Leaving the school, he passed down a narrow street lined with shops. The stink of rotting meat rose from a bag of groceries someone had left in front of a bank, and a hamburger, dropped on a restaurant counter, still had a fork stuck in it. An empty turntable revolved in the window of a record shop, and the slimy mess of trampled grapes, pears, and bananas attracting flies in front of a fruit stand had not yet dried.
  At last he came to the source of the smell: it seemed to be coming from a layer of white powder that had been spread over a park bordered with bamboo. As he was crossing the park, hand over his nose, he realized that beneath the powder about half the area was covered with blue plastic sheeting. The flies were as thick as they had been at the fruit stand. He cautiously lifted one flap of the plastic, then stepped back, shoving his hand in his mouth to stifle a scream: a human foot was visible. He was too frightened to notice the faint smell of burning flesh that clung to his hand. Hearing cicadas singing in the bamboo grove and thinking he might be better off there himself, he made a dash in that direction, fighting the urge to puke.
  Perhaps because the thick leaves blocked out the sunlight, it was humid in the grove and the soft earth sucked at his shoes, making walking difficult. When he reached a clearing, he found the body of a dog, its head split wide open. He stopped, thinking he should bury it; he would dig a deep, deep hole, and while he was digging, perhaps the nausea would go away, letting him calm down enough to think clearly about what he'd seen. The soft earth made for easy digging, and he found himself thinking of the time he had buried the dead child in Toxitown. A breeze rustled the bamboo overhead. He had been right: he was feeling better; even his throat felt less parched. In fact, as he worked, he noticed that his whole body seemed to be growing lighter. A warm, pleasant sensation spread from his throat down through his belly, and he began to feel positively cheerful. That smell. Burning flesh again. This time it was too strong to miss. Feeling a bit light-headed, he had finished the hole and grabbed the dog by one leg when it hit him: a sense of burgeoning power swept through him, and with it an overwhelming urge to tear the dog to bits. The feeling took him completely by surprise. He could feel it exploding in his body, and closing his eyes and shaking his head did nothing to stop it. He tried to drop the dog on the ground, but his hand resisted him, and a searing pain shot through his head. Despite himself, he held the dog in a tighter grip, and the pain receded. He then found that he'd picked up another of its legs, hearing a voice from somewhere say: "Tear it to bits." Startled, Hashi looked around, but there was no one else in sight. "Rip it up. Tear it to bits," the voice said again. Hashi clenched his teeth as gooseflesh rose on his body. It was his own voice. Maybe he really was crazy. Again he tried to let go of the dog, but his head threatened to split open; it was as if someone had cut a hole in it and poured boiling oil over his brain. "Tear it to bits." The voice spilled out of his mouth of its own accord. "That doesn't make sense," he managed to reply. "Years ago, a dog saved me from a coin locker. Why would I want to mangle a poor dead dog?" With a yell, he flung the thing down and staggered away, driven by the pain in his head. His eyes wouldn't open, and about the only thing he could be sure of, and that vaguely, was the way the asphalt burned beneath his feet. He felt around on his skull, searching for the hole, the one through which the hot oil was pouring in... or was it animal fat? Whatever, it made his blood race, coating his flesh and rotting his muscles as his whole body stiffened. Realizing that his thighs were hot, too hot to bear, he broke into a run, bumping into one obstacle after another with his eyes still shut: a poplar tree, garbage bags, a cinderblock wall, a telephone booth, lampposts, a car's bumper. From the wet blood running down his face, he could tell that he must have cut his head, but there was no pain. Each time he collided with something, his muscles just grew harder. Finally, he stumbled and fell into a narrow ditch; but no sooner had he come to rest in the warm, murky water that had collected in it than he realized somehow there was someone else nearby. Opening his eyes just a crack, he saw a leg dangling in the ditch, and once again the impulse he had felt before swept over him. His eyes opened wide. He found himself on a tree-lined street, ripples of heat rising from the pavement. Close by, a woman in a polka-dot dress sat with one leg in the ditch, her eyes glassy and unfocused. From a corner of his own mouth something greenish dribbled down. He had the weird sensation that he'd become a giant—that he could kill her with his little finger. He drew nearer and discovered that the woman was pregnant. She seemed to have hurt her left shoulder. She sat stirring the dirty water with her foot, then, noticing Hashi standing there, smiled weakly at him.
  Hashi let his hands fall from the woman's mouth. Leaving her, he walked into the heart of the deserted city, his cry melting into a song.
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