conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Museum, Modern, Art with the genre: Arts & Photography, Individual Artists?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Richard Phillips'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this book.. Start with the sentence 'Richard Phillips
  The heat in the lifeboat had become completely unbearable'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Richard Phillips
  The heat in the lifeboat had become completely unbearable. The last drops of cool ocean water from my escape attempt had evaporated off my skin hours ago and, even though it was two in the morning, the heat was radiating off the hull and pressing down on me. I felt as if I were sitting on top of the equator. I'd stripped down to my khakis and socks, but I couldn't even put my feet on the deck because it was boiling hot. My ribs and arms were aching, too, from the beating the pirates had given me, absolutely batshit furious that their million-dollar American hostage had almost gotten away.
  I could see the lights of the navy ship through the aft hatch, dipping up and down on the ocean swells astern, about half a mile away. I'd almost made it. If the moon hadn't been so bright, the pirates would never have spotted me. I should have been drinking a cold beer in the captain's quarters right now, telling my adventure story to half the crew and waiting for my call home to go through.
  The ship looked gigantic out there. It was like a piece of home floating so close it seemed unreal. It appeared to be a destroyer, which meant they had enough firepower to blow a thousand pirate ships back to Mogadishu. Why hadn't they done anything?
  The hard plastic of the molded seats was digging into my back and causing my legs to cramp. I hung my head back, trying to relieve the stress on my neck. I was now trussed up like a deer in the middle of the lifeboat. The Somalis had lashed my hands to a vertical bar at the top of the lifeboat's canopy and bound my feet together. I couldn't even feel my fingers. The lanky pirate, the one I called Musso, had pulled the ropes so tight I'd lost sensation in less than a minute. My hands were starting to swell up like a pair of clown gloves.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I walked out the bridge door and we made our way to the bright orange MOB. As I was walking around the vessel, I was talking loudly and keying the radio to let the crew know where I was. The MOB was about eighteen feet long, an open design with no canopy, made of fiberglass-reinforced resin with a single outboard engine and three rows for seating. To get it down to the water, you had to winch it off its cradle, get it out over the water, lower it down, and pull a release bar, freeing it from its falls.
  I climbed into the MOB and hit the engine switch. I started it up briefly, then the pirates tried it. Each time the outboard roared to life.
  They weren't impressed. They were out on the Indian Ocean looking for a few million, not thirty grand. But I sensed it might be just enough to get them off my ship, if they still had hostages. Hostages would give them a shot at the big money.
  We climbed up to E deck and walked into my room. Little did I know that Shane had been monitoring our progress and had been caught in the passageway ahead of us. With nowhere else to go, he'd darted into my room and searched desperately for a place to hide. As I walked in with the two pirates, he was hiding in the closet not five feet away. "You don't know how many times you saved my life," he told me later. "I'd be walking around the ship and I'd hear you talking and I'd dive into the nearest opening."
  Later, when I had time to reflect on these hours, I got a lot of satisfaction from the knowledge that I'd been able to keep Shane and the others safe. But I wasn't thinking about it then—I was so immersed in the details of getting the Somalis their money and getting them off my ship that I wasn't thinking of anything else, let alone whether a crew member was within arm's reach. I went right to my safe, spun the dial, hit the combination, and then opened the safe door. I pulled out the $30,000, which was arranged into stacks of different denominations, and handed it to Musso. He and Tall Guy counted the money and nodded.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last two paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Front matter map of Somalia reprinted with permission from Britannica Concise Encyclopedia, © 2001 by Encyclopedia Britannica, Inc.
  Special thanks to DCL for the use of Somali Pirate Takedown: The Real Story, courtesy Discovery Channel and Military Channel.