conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a title for a book about Stone, Carrie, December with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Liberation Day'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Liberation Day
  We got back into the car and drove to Gregory Street. The house had been in the family for years. Built in 1824, it was originally a fisherman's cottage overlooking the sea. Various extensions and rebuilds over the years, probably during the Golden Age she was talking about, had turned it into a spacious family home. A wooden pineapple was nailed above the front door as a sign of welcome. They were all over the place in this part of the world. A couple of hundred years ago, sailors returning from long voyages would place a pineapple by their door to show they were back and people were welcome to come and visit. I would normally have made some quip about that, but thought better of it today.
  She swung the car into the gravelled driveway and headed towards a white Taurus parked in front of the annexe, next to my covered-over Yamaha 600 motorcycle.
  Carrie didn't seem too concerned. 'I thought Mom wasn't expecting anyone until Saturday. Oh, well, I'll go see if she remembered to put out the cookies and coffee. Got to look after the guests!'
  As we got closer I could see Massachusetts plates. The vehicle was so clean and sterile it had to be a hire car.
  She parked beside it and we both got out. She threw her keys at me over the roof. 'Tell you what, why not take a shower and I'll be right back? And make sure you shave. We have some catching up to do.' There was a smile before she nodded at the annexe. 'Go.'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: At last I saw daylight above me. Three more flights and I was at ground level. I saw the four aluminium doors for the lifts and a small group of people waiting. I walked into the entrance hall gulping in air, trying to calm myself down as the back of my neck started to leak. The glass and steel frontage of the small hallway looked out on a bus shelter my side of a busy road. I could see we were high above the principality, as I was looking out on to the Mediterranean, but there was no port. It must have been below somewhere.
  The breeze blew in from the sea as I headed for the bus stop. My eyes darted about, looking for the Romeos. They should be going left, to the de la Scala.
  I saw them then, at a corner about fifteen metres away to my left. Romeo Two was checking a small map as One looked about nervously and got stuck into a pack of Marlboro. I kept my back to them now, and walked directly to the bus stop, hitting my pressle. 'Hello, hello, is anyone there? This is N, anyone there?'
  I crossed to the right-hand side of the road, hoping to avoid them; the port was about three hundred feet below me. Huge grey clouds hung above us, cutting the tops off the mountains.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I didn't even know if she was going to take the day off work to meet me. But if she didn't, I'd just go and sit on the doorstep until she came home. There were some things I needed to say, and thought she needed to hear.
  Maybe Carrie would read it too. Maybe I could tell her about Lotfi and Hubba-Hubba and Khalisah, and we could take a few steps towards the middle. People can stay together if they really want to, even if there's a whole lot of shit going on around them. I knew that now: I'd seen it happen.
  The train came to a halt and people stood and reached for their hats and coats, and gathered up their bags of Christmas shopping. The automatic doors drew back to reveal the signs for Wonderland station.
  I stepped out of the carriage. It was as cold as it ever was, and the wind was bitter. I zipped up my fleece jacket, and joined the throng heading for the barrier.