conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Diaries, Basketball, Leonardo with the genre: Humor & Entertainment, Humor?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Petting Zoo'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Petting Zoo
  Tippy had arrived in New York with the highest-reaching ladder he could find. He then, over time, carefully tilted it against the façade of the social scene and proceeded to climb. Billy had spoken to a number of acquaintances represented by Tippy and discovered they all agreed that—despite his somewhat gauche demeanor—the man had indeed helped bolster their careers.
  Now, recalling their last talks, Billy understood the reasoning behind Max's decision. They both knew all along that when Max inevitably passed, there would be no one who could possibly replace him. Nobody in the younger generation of dealers came close to possessing Max's high standards, or his ability to impart, with a unique passion and ease, life's most crucial lessons. He was the last survivor of a dying generation, the final alumnus remaining from the "old school," and they were both aware of it.
  Max knew that—all else aside—Tippy Shernoval was the most canny and aggressive dealer around, and he insisted to Billy that his career had reached the point where this type of dealer was what he needed. He pulled the conflicted young man closer, and spoke in a low voice with clenched teeth. "You need a pushy and assertive goyim to get you all you deserve. That was never my style, and I often regret not acting more dynamically during these last few years.
  Max had to stop midsentence. He looked so tired. Billy had been holding out some hope for a recovery, but he saw that was out of the question. Max was not going to last much longer, and that was for certain. By this time Marta had stepped into the room. Steadying herself on the arm of Billy's chair, she lowered one knee onto the floor beside the bed, almost like genuflecting, and greeted Max with a quick pat on his elevated leg, which was now covered by a blanket. By this time, Max had come to know Marta well. From their first meeting he had scrutinized her thoroughly and respectfully, and trusted that she was exactly what Billy needed. He was impressed by her "zeal, intelligence, and intractable honesty."
  He also found her quite entertaining. Max, even in his latter years, loved the company of smart, attractive women. With the advent of feminism, his views might appear somewhat misogynistic, but his charm always managed to compensate for that. He knew Marta made it possible for Billy to think of nothing but his work. He could also rely on her to keep an eye on Tippy.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Petting Zoo
  Tippy had arrived in New York with the highest-reaching ladder he could find. He then, over time, carefully tilted it against the façade of the social scene and proceeded to climb. Billy had spoken to a number of acquaintances represented by Tippy and discovered they all agreed that—despite his somewhat gauche demeanor—the man had indeed helped bolster their careers.
  Now, recalling their last talks, Billy understood the reasoning behind Max's decision. They both knew all along that when Max inevitably passed, there would be no one who could possibly replace him. Nobody in the younger generation of dealers came close to possessing Max's high standards, or his ability to impart, with a unique passion and ease, life's most crucial lessons. He was the last survivor of a dying generation, the final alumnus remaining from the "old school," and they were both aware of it.
  Max knew that—all else aside—Tippy Shernoval was the most canny and aggressive dealer around, and he insisted to Billy that his career had reached the point where this type of dealer was what he needed. He pulled the conflicted young man closer, and spoke in a low voice with clenched teeth. "You need a pushy and assertive goyim to get you all you deserve. That was never my style, and I often regret not acting more dynamically during these last few years.
  Max had to stop midsentence. He looked so tired. Billy had been holding out some hope for a recovery, but he saw that was out of the question. Max was not going to last much longer, and that was for certain. By this time Marta had stepped into the room. Steadying herself on the arm of Billy's chair, she lowered one knee onto the floor beside the bed, almost like genuflecting, and greeted Max with a quick pat on his elevated leg, which was now covered by a blanket. By this time, Max had come to know Marta well. From their first meeting he had scrutinized her thoroughly and respectfully, and trusted that she was exactly what Billy needed. He was impressed by her "zeal, intelligence, and intractable honesty."
  He also found her quite entertaining. Max, even in his latter years, loved the company of smart, attractive women. With the advent of feminism, his views might appear somewhat misogynistic, but his charm always managed to compensate for that. He knew Marta made it possible for Billy to think of nothing but his work.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Again the voice spoke from the window ledge outside. The actual words still remained inaudible, but this time Billy easily pinpointed those vocal characteristics. The raven had returned.
  Billy hastily peeled off a $50 bill from a roll in his pocket and slipped it to the attendant, requesting he take a break for an hour or so. Stuffing it into a fake leather wallet, the weary worker left without a single question.
  After staring down the corridor until the old bastard had shuffled out of sight, Billy locked the door and dragged the attendant's chair across the floor. Placing it beneath the window, he stood on the seat and worked desperately to pry open the frame, sealed shut by time and the changing weather. Though he nearly herniated himself, the damn window finally slid upward.
  Though he'd wished it were all another delusion, he'd correctly identified both the voice and silhouette. The raven had indeed arrived, and the figment of his imagination was hopping angrily back and forth across the outside ledge, immediately berating Billy for how long it took him to open the window.
  He was wrong. Despite its initial harangue, the obstinate little wiseass was putting out a different vibe than during their previous encounters. Though difficult to perceive, the dynamics between the two were almost cordial. For a creature so ambiguous, the raven's moods were its most puzzling characteristic.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Billy, used, dried.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Again the voice spoke from the window ledge outside. The actual words still remained inaudible, but this time Billy easily pinpointed those vocal characteristics. The raven had returned. 
  Billy hastily peeled off a $50 bill from a roll in his pocket and slipped it to the attendant, requesting he take a break for an hour or so. Stuffing it into a fake leather wallet, the weary worker left without a single question. 
  After staring down the corridor until the old bastard had shuffled out of sight, Billy locked the door and dragged the attendant's chair across the floor. Placing it beneath the window, he stood on the seat and worked desperately to pry open the frame, sealed shut by time and the changing weather. For 15 minutes, Billy used the attendant's shoehorn to chip away the dried paint, and then gave the sill one last shove. Though he nearly herniated himself, the damn window finally slid upward. 
  Though he'd wished it were all another delusion, he'd correctly identified both the voice and silhouette. The raven had indeed arrived, and the figment of his imagination was hopping angrily back and forth across the outside ledge, immediately berating Billy for how long it took him to open the window. 
  He was wrong. Despite its initial harangue, the obstinate little wiseass was putting out a different vibe than during their previous encounters. Though difficult to perceive, the dynamics between the two were almost cordial. For a creature so ambiguous, the raven's moods were its most puzzling characteristic.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last four paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Billy was nearing death from exposure in his own home. The body had curled in a fetal position, thin and crooked like a dog's leg, no longer able to bend its neck and watch the raven's final speech.
  The figure lay motionless on the floor, but his mind still flickered in dim delirium. This connoisseur of building material had never even noticed the unique floorboards made from old planks, thick as the beams of a ship.
  Finally, a last sigh of consciousness rocked him gently on the deck of an old schooner ship. Billy's body, dark blue like the storm clouds, shuddered, and his dull eyes closed. Sensing young Wolfram had given up the ghost, the raven glided back down beside the dead artist, whispering a last demand.
  Now that its vigil was over, the raven rose from the floor and through the window, disappearing north into the whiteout night of the great blizzard. Soon another bird soared down from the huge Port Authority building. It was a dove, gliding directly beside the long black wings, barely visible in the pale, frigid air.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Billy was nearing death from exposure in his own home. The body had curled in a fetal position, thin and crooked like a dog's leg, no longer able to bend its neck and watch the raven's final speech.
  The figure lay motionless on the floor, but his mind still flickered in dim delirium. This connoisseur of building material had never even noticed the unique floorboards made from old planks, thick as the beams of a ship.
  Finally, a last sigh of consciousness rocked him gently on the deck of an old schooner ship. Billy's body, dark blue like the storm clouds, shuddered, and his dull eyes closed. Sensing young Wolfram had given up the ghost, the raven glided back down beside the dead artist, whispering a last demand.
  Now that its vigil was over, the raven rose from the floor and through the window, disappearing north into the whiteout night of the great blizzard. Soon another bird soared down from the huge Port Authority building.