conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a story about Ror, Trey, UpRor with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this story could be 'Into the Dangerous World'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first two paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Into the Dangerous World
  THE NIGHT DADO burned down our house, he came upstairs and into my room. In his arms, he cradled a thick roll of brown butcher paper that he must have bought near the chemical plant where he worked. He smelled of sulfur, like a lit match. I hunched over my sketches on the wood floor, drawing the serrated edge of a knife, sharp and ready for a heart. I always drew on the floor, my paper spread out around me. There was no other space on our whole four acres that could contain me.
  When Dado came in, he set down the paper and kicked it. We didn't say anything, watching it roll out. He towered over me, and I couldn't tell which Dado he was. He wore his combat boots and seemed jittery. Across the room, the paper stopped with a bump under the window. I didn't know what he wanted me to do with it—a wrong move could set him off.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She was right. I loved my Doc Martens boots and Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and my Design markers. I loved the feel of Krylon spray in my hand. I hated that I loved them.
  Jonathan's was still open. I took my watercolor paintings out of my bag and stood outside his store, looking in. The thought of stealing that ebony black tightened my fingers around the paper he'd given me.
  I sifted through my paintings, looking at the likenesses of Dado, his patterns and configurations, his obsessiveness over gleaning and stripping and constructing that I'd been trying to recreate.
  There were rich colors against hard lines when I added my ink pen; some were torn and layered in places. I was trying to work fast enough to avoid missing him, building with these too-thin materials, trying to make them thick and dense and real. Trying to make the past real.
  I opened the door and stepped in. Breathed in the fresh-cut wood smell of Dado's shop. I just wanted to be in Jon's store.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I went out, past the buttoned-up guy at the desk and onto the street. I took out my pad and sketched the words on the building, DILLINGER GALLERY. Underneath, I drew what I imagined it might be like to have a show there—my paintings hanging, people looking, the newspaper articles written about me. Bodies swirled around me as I drew. The sounds of the city fell away, and it was just me, drawing. I felt him watching me, a Blake angel from above, whispering— and then I put my pad away and walked back into the dangerous world.
  Most of all, Jean-Marc Superville Sovak, for being the first to show me how to see beyond the surface. Jill Grinberg, for seeing and believing. Jen Hunt, for taking a chance. Sharyn November, for adopting, caring, and transforming, and for raising the bar ever higher. Jim Hoover, for such fresh design. Lisaana Otter, for being a great big sister. My Prague writers workshop, especially Anthony Tognazzini, Alan Thomas, and Laura Zam, and to Shannon McCormick, who gave me the first line.
  And Armand "Mirage" Herreras, for being real live inspiration all throughout high school and beyond (www.historicpaintinganddeco.com).
  For more influences, art, and other fun stuff, and to add your own, visit www.intothedangerousworld.com.
  To my mom, for helping me believe, to my dad, for teaching me to draw, and, above all, to Julie, my love and fiercest supporter.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: To my mom, for helping me believe, to my dad, for teaching me to draw, and, above all, to Julie, my love and fiercest supporter..com.intothedangerousworld.
  For more influences, art, and other fun stuff, and to add your own, visit www.com).historicpaintinganddeco.
  And Armand "Mirage" Herreras, for being real live inspiration all throughout high school and beyond (www. My Prague writers workshop, especially Anthony Tognazzini, Alan Thomas, and Laura Zam, and to Shannon McCormick, who gave me the first line. Lisaana Otter, for being a great big sister. Jim Hoover, for such fresh design. Sharyn November, for adopting, caring, and transforming, and for raising the bar ever higher. Jen Hunt, for taking a chance. Jill Grinberg, for seeing and believing.
  Most of all, Jean-Marc Superville Sovak, for being the first to show me how to see beyond the surface. I felt him watching me, a Blake angel from above, whispering— and then I put my pad away and walked back into the dangerous world. The sounds of the city fell away, and it was just me, drawing. Bodies swirled around me as I drew. Underneath, I drew what I imagined it might be like to have a show there—my paintings hanging, people looking, the newspaper articles written about me. I took out my pad and sketched the words on the building, DILLINGER GALLERY.I went out, past the buttoned-up guy at the desk and onto the street