conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Marsha, Jamaica, Readers with the genre: Romance, Contemporary?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Darkest Day'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first three paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Darkest Day
  He used a thumb and middle finger to snap open his Zippo lighter and lit the cigarette perched between his lips. Smoking was perhaps the only real pleasure he had.
  He watched the downtown traffic and the pedestrians pass by, all miserable. Good. He didn't like anyone to be happy but himself. It wasn't pure selfishness. Joy was a zero sum game. There just wasn't enough to go around.
  He sucked in a big lungful of smoke and held it in as he closed his eyes and tilted his face to the sky, exhaling as the sporadic raindrops exploded on his cheeks, forehead and eyelids.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide two more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The tall man in the leather jacket shot again, this time striking even closer, bullet cracking windscreen glass as Victor shuffled along the car to get a better angle for his own.
  The gunman, seeing he was exposed, sidestepped as he shot twice more, seeking cover while putting rounds Victor's way. Victor crouched low behind the protection of the car and returned fire, tracking the guy as he sidestepped, aiming not at him, but ahead, because even a bullet travelling at six hundred miles per hour took a thirtieth of a second to cover the ten-metre distance. The man, sidestepping at four miles per hour, moved forty-six centimetres in that same time. A shot aimed at his head would miss every single time.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The tall man in the leather jacket shot again, this time striking even closer, bullet cracking windscreen glass as Victor shuffled along the car to get a better angle for his own.
  The gunman, seeing he was exposed, sidestepped as he shot twice more, seeking cover while putting rounds Victor's way. Victor crouched low behind the protection of the car and returned fire, tracking the guy as he sidestepped, aiming not at him, but ahead, because even a bullet travelling at six hundred miles per hour took a thirtieth of a second to cover the ten-metre distance. The man, sidestepping at four miles per hour, moved forty-six centimetres in that same time.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last paragraph.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Her eyes lit up, because she knew she had got to him. She had hooked the client, now she needed to reel him in, to reassure, to get rid of the buyer's guilt before it impeded a sale.