Generative AI for Copyediting & Copywriting

🕯 In education, teachers oftentimes use Pro Writing Aid (PWA) as a tool to evaluate student papers, measuring over 20 different aspects of writing. This tool is oftentimes used for copywriting and editing for creatives and authors alike. ❗

🕯 In this use case, I will show how iterative prompting and prompt chaining could help a student slowly edit their work against PWA standards to improve aspects like grammar, sentence readability, sentence length and variation, spelling, morphology and syntax. You’ll even get a sneak peek into my upcoming novel sequel d▶

🕯 The use case will use my own novel 📚 as input for prompting using Gemini 1.5 Pro and Flash to simulate a student submitting a writing assignment for a creative writing class. It is very important the student retain the tone, voice, and spirit of the writing 🙊. The scenario assumes the student has written a creative writing piece already, and is using Generative AI (GenAI) to edit the paper before submission. ✍

Safety and Ethics

I purposefully used text with some language advisory, so please be aware ❗. This was for safety filter testing, which managed to stay at medium for the manuscript.

It is implied that the student would finally review manually the output of the GenAI system to ensure that the piece of work they wrote sounds right 👁 . At the end of the day PWA and other tools like Grammarly are good baselines to operate on, but the other reason why GenAI is suitable for this exercise is its ability to understand nuance; it still managed to maintain my tone and style while also keeping the overall style as a work of fiction 📖.

Why GenAI is Suitable for this Use Case ♥

Tools like PWA and Grammarly are quickly scrambling to incorporate GenAI in their own tools to come up with suggestions for problematic parts of writing. This is because the stochastic and creative ✨ nature of GenAI works pretty well for most writing (in this case creative writing suited the technology best) however with further context and instructions, one could edit a business plan using the same approach 👤 . The overall task was to improve a piece of creative writing work, the steps included extensive context window models with few shot prompting and multimedia ingestion. The results or success criteria were determined by PWA- once the results reached an acceptable percentage level📊 , that indicates that part of your writing has improved.

Metrics 📈

Oftentimes, external tools can be used as metrics for evaluating generative AI outputs that in fact have nothing to do with traditional generative AI metrics you might see (eg BLEU, ROUGE, etc)d. Metrics were measured using PWA for every iteration of the prompt. This was a great approach given the use case because PWA is used by many creative writers and wrtiers in general to improve their writing. ⤵ Since traditional available GenAI metric methods do not satisfy what needs to be measured, an external tool was used. **Note- yes, agents could be used for this too, but I was aiming for simple, rapid iterations**

Limitations and Improvements

f✅ It is possible to integrate RAG into this for longer documents. However in this use case for a creative writing class, it might be beneficial to manually using human in the loop for iterative evaluation.

In an ideal scenario, here are some improvements that could be made to automate the loop:

💡 Use APD to refine prompts (feature not yet available at the time of writing this notebook)

💡 LLM as a judge for results to automate some of the evaluation cycle.

💡 Automate the feedback loop to external tools such as PWA to automate the cycle following the LLM as a judge output.

🕯 Either stop there and take both evaluation outputs (PWA + LLM as a Judge) and make edits from there.

Ultimately this whole process could be automated using RAG and Gemini’s long context window, however the need for HITL 👩 is so crucial in this use case it would not be recommended.

High Level Architecture Diagram

High Level Architecture Diagram

Since Vertex AI Studio was used for this particular version of the prompt flow, only Vertex AI Studio was used. This is because it is actually more beneficial to iterate over a long body of text section by section for editing and revision. If the entire body of work (novel sized) was used all at once, the architecture diagram that would be used is below:

Scenario

The text was initially submitted to PWA to get initial scores of how the piece of text needs to be improved ✅. The following areas of the creative writing piece were identified as needing improvement 👎. We will tackle this with prompting techniques as well as prompt chaining ⛓ to improve the text.

Here are the initial results from PWA. The areas of improvement for the piece include grammar, sentence length, the glue index, dialogue tags, dialogue tags with adverbs, and finally weak adverbs ⬆. We will tackle a couple of these and a few other aspects that later developed as low scores due to Gemini manipulation:

Tackling Grammar

The Grammar score was one of the lowest on the piece, so in the first set of prompts we will tackle grammar. Let’s get our environment ready first ⏩

Set Up Environment 🔧

import base64
import vertexai
from vertexai.generative_models import GenerativeModel, Part, SafetySetting, FinishReason
import vertexai.preview.generative_models as generative_modelsdf

import sys

# Additional authentication is required for Google Colab
if "google.colab" in sys.modules:
    # Authenticate user to Google Cloud
    from google.colab import auth

    auth.authenticate_user()

# Define project information

import sys
import subprocess

PROJECT_ID = "cloud-llm-preview3"  # @param {type:"string"}
LOCATION = "us-central1"  # @param {type:"string"}

print(f"Your project ID is: {PROJECT_ID}")

def generate():
  vertexai.init(project="cloud-llm-preview3", location="us-central1")
  model = GenerativeModel(
    "gemini-1.5-flash-001",
  )
  responses = model.generate_content(
      [text1],
      generation_config=generation_config,
      safety_settings=safety_settings,
      stream=True,
  )

  for response in responses:
    print(response.text, end="")f

generation_config = {
    "max_output_tokens": 8192,
    "temperature": 1,
    "top_p": 0.95,
}
#notice for safety settings, all were set to low as there is some content that comes with creative writing (profanity, romantic scenes, etc...)
safety_settings = [
    SafetySetting(
        category=SafetySetting.HarmCategory.HARM_CATEGORY_HATE_SPEECH,
        threshold=SafetySetting.HarmBlockThreshold.BLOCK_MEDIUM_AND_ABOVE
    ),
    SafetySetting(
        category=SafetySetting.HarmCategory.HARM_CATEGORY_DANGEROUS_CONTENT,
        threshold=SafetySetting.HarmBlockThreshold.BLOCK_MEDIUM_AND_ABOVE
    ),
    SafetySetting(
        category=SafetySetting.HarmCategory.HARM_CATEGORY_SEXUALLY_EXPLICIT,
        threshold=SafetySetting.HarmBlockThreshold.BLOCK_MEDIUM_AND_ABOVE
    ),
    SafetySetting(
        category=SafetySetting.HarmCategory.HARM_CATEGORY_HARASSMENT,
        threshold=SafetySetting.HarmBlockThreshold.BLOCK_MEDIUM_AND_ABOVE
    ),
]

Below, we will break down the prompt 🛠. Some of the directions were taken directly from PWA’s directions on how to best improve grammar ✅. The majority of the directions from the prompt were actually copied and pasted from the rules and guidelines provided by PWA 📑. Different examples from PWA feedback are provided, and surprisingly the negative examples 👎 worked fairly well. Using meta tagging 🥕 also improved delineation between context and the massive body of text submitted.

dftext1 = """Improve the grammar score in the text below.

Keep the tone, voice, and spirit of the text as much as possible.

Generate the same chapter but with improved grammar.

Consider the following context for improvements:

<context>

Aim for a Grammar Score of 100%.

#the following was taken directly from PWA's Grammar improvement website article

Grammar mistakes make your work look unprofessional and can interfere with your audience’s understanding of what you’re trying to say.
The Grammar Report checks for thousands of mistakes, from simple rules like subject-verb agreement to more complex and less common rules like using the word “allows” with a gerund. Here are a few of the mistakes highlighted in the Grammar Report:
confused words, such as “adverse” and “averse”
incorrect use of superlatives
incorrect ending punctuation
comma splices
missing commas
confused indefinite articles

Improving your grammar score will improve the credibility of your writing.
How to Accept a Grammar Suggestion
When you run the Grammar Report, you’ll receive a list of the errors in your document. Clicking into each error will give you an explanation of the rule, as well as options to fix it.
Some errors may have multiple suggestions; others will have only one. If there isn’t a suggestion, you can manually fix the error.

<context/>


<text>
Party
Boulder, Colorado

“Just go barefoot.”

“What?”

“Just take your damn shoes off and go barefoot.”

“But… I’m in the street. It’s dirty. And there’s definitely broken glass somewhere.”

“Everyone is barefoot here. It’s Boulder. Relax.” Ned rolled his eyes at Hagar’s caution, genuinely wondering how the girl had ended up at a place like this at all. With a sigh and a grimace, Hagar bent down and peeled her shoes off her feet.

Hagar considered her first few weeks in Boulder a success, or at least she wanted to believe they were. She had made friends with Ned during orientation; their initial conversation had sparked an instant connection. Now, watching him drunkenly wave a group of college partygoers down the sidewalk, she laughed softly at the memory of their first encounter.

The campus tour had been testing the limits of her patience. Seeking refuge, Hagar had perched on a low brick wall outside Baker Hall, her new dormitory and a designated stop on the tour. Pretending to be engrossed in her Blackberry phone, she was actually playing Snake on the small screen, waiting for the tour group to move on.

“Yo.”

She looked up, startled, then to her left. Ned was sitting beside her, his sharp blue eyes fixed on her. Not in the mood for socializing, she instinctively recoiled. “Yo,” she replied curtly, noticing his deep blue knit sock hat, a color that almost matched his eyes. “You know it’s way too fucking hot outside to be wearing that,” she added, gesturing outward as if directly addressing the oppressive late August heat.

A wide grin spread across Ned’s face. “I like you. Let’s be friends. I’m Ned,” he declared, leaning in for a hug.

“I’m Hagar,” she responded, awkwardly returning the embrace.

Ned straightened his sock hat. “Do you have another one of those?” he asked, gesturing at her cigarette. Hagar pulled out her pack of Marlboro Reds and offered him one. He wrinkled his nose in disgust but took it anyway.

“You don’t have anything chiller? Spirits?” he asked as he accepted her lighter.

“No. These are weak compared to the ones I am used to at home,” Hagar replied.

“Where’s home?” he inquired, lighting the cigarette.

“Egypt,” she said, a flicker of regret crossing her mind that the subject had to surface so soon.

“Oh. Like pharaohs and shit?” Ned asked, exhaling a plume of smoke.

“Yeah. Like that,” she confirmed, her voice tinged with a hint of weariness.

They spent the remainder of the day in comfortable silence, trailing their orientation group across the sprawling campus. Hagar discovered that Ned also resided in Baker Hall. Whenever the tour paused, they would steal moments to share cigarettes, their silences speaking volumes.

Now, several weeks later, stumbling along with her shoes in hand, Hagar found herself being pulled down to the sidewalk by a drunken Ned, who plopped onto the ground with a satisfied grunt. She smiled, realizing she had never seen him without his signature knit sock hat. On the rare occasions he removed it briefly to rake his fingers through his hair, she glimpsed brown, slightly curly locks, cut at a length that hovered between stylishly long and charmingly disheveled.

At this juncture in Hagar’s journey, we find her amidst a whirlwind of feathered hair extensions, glitter, thrift shop expeditions, bicycle rides down Pearl Street, and visits to local coffee shops boasting menus overflowing with gluten-free, vegan, environmentally conscious, and locally sourced fare. She spent her days navigating the unfamiliar terrain of college life with other awkward freshmen, all of them grappling with their newfound independence. A typical outing might involve scavenging for vintage treasures at the thrift shop, spontaneous ukulele sessions erupting as someone inevitably produced the instrument, and of course, indulging in the town’s beloved pastime: smoking weed.

Students descended upon Boulder, eager to immerse themselves in winter sports. They arrived with expensive gear and season-long passes to Vail, skipping class without a second thought to chase fresh powder. Some boasted luxury cars; others, top-of-the-line bicycles. A mere handful of weeks into the semester, even the most self-assured former high school cheerleaders were diligently cultivating dreadlocks, while their shyer counterparts discreetly adorned their hair with tinsel extensions, daring to add feathers on particularly adventurous days. Ned, ever the keen observer, would point these transformations out to Hagar as they engaged in their favorite pastime of people-watching, and Hagar, like a tourist in a foreign land, absorbed every detail.

Hagar’s single, experimental foray into weed during high school had blossomed into a regular habit. It offered a sense of calm, a familiar thread connecting her old life in Egypt to the unfamiliar tapestry of her new home in America. However, as the weeks wore on, the realization that her Army scholarship could be revoked due to marijuana use tempered her enjoyment with a growing sense of apprehension. Now, her relationship with the drug vacillated between love and loathing, a constant internal struggle.

It’s about control, or rather, my lack of it, she thought. I\'m terrified that something will happen while I\'m high, something that will send me straight back to Egypt. The fear was always there, lurking in the back of her mind.

Her roommate, Molly, was a tall blonde with a lazy eye and an unwavering devotion to the color pink—not a soft, subtle shade, but a loud, almost neon pink. It dominated their dorm room, splashed across her clothes, a constant visual assault. Molly embraced the Boulder aesthetic with gusto, sporting blonde hair extensions, snowboarding attire, and peppering her conversations with pronouncements about \"shredding\" whenever attractive boys were within earshot. And like many in Boulder, Molly loved her weed. It was medical, she claimed, a necessary remedy for her insomnia and chronic back pain, the unfortunate souvenirs of a snowboarding mishap.

“Hagar!” Ned’s voice, laced with laughter, sliced through her thoughts. “What did you think?” he repeated, his voice louder than necessary.

“It was… interesting,” she replied, injecting a healthy dose of apathy into her tone. A beat of silence, then, “Where’s Molly?” she asked suddenly, her gaze scanning their surroundings.

“Who knows? Last I saw, she ran off with some dude,” Ned replied with a shake of his head. “No controlling that chick when she’s had a few.”

“Shouldn’t we try to find her?” Hagar asked, concern tinging her voice.

“Nah,” Ned mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

“So, Hagar,” he began, shifting unsteadily, eager to change the subject. “How did you end up in Boulder? You seem… out of place here,” he slurred, his words slightly jumbled. Hagar paused, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation.

“Well, it was my second choice,” she offered tentatively, immediately worried that she sounded conceited.

“Second?” Ned scoffed, as if the mere concept of Boulder being relegated to second place was unfathomable. “Psh. Where was your first choice then?”

“West Point,” Hagar admitted quietly, bracing herself for the inevitable reaction.

“Like… the military place?” Ned’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Yes,” she confirmed. This reaction, she had learned to expect. It was a familiar script, one she had recited countless times since arriving in Boulder. Wait, the military academy? You mean the United States Military Academy? How does that even work? Are you American? Can non-Americans even go there? Why the military? That’s such a strange choice. Did you get in? I hear it’s incredibly difficult. Why didn\'t you go?

“It’s complicated,” she said, her voice a weary sigh.

“So that’s why you’re doing that Army program here, right?” Ned’s voice held a hint of disapproval, another familiar note in the symphony of reactions to her military affiliation.

“Yes. ROTC,” she confirmed. “They’re paying for school. It’s not a terrible deal. It was the only way for me to come to America,” she explained, her words tumbling out in a rush.

Ned nodded slowly, processing the information. Then, with the fickleness of the inebriated, his attention darted elsewhere. “Can you get a DUI if you ride a bike intoxicated?” he asked loudly, already stumbling towards a bicycle propped against a nearby fence.

“I think so. I know you can get one for driving a golf cart,” Hagar replied, hurrying after him.

This wasn’t the first time she had felt a pang of shame about being in the Army program. Initially, she assumed it would be met with respect and admiration. However, she quickly realized that the general sentiment at the University of Colorado was far from enthusiastic. Each conversation about her military involvement chipped away at her confidence, leaving her questioning whether accepting the Army scholarship had been the right decision. The memory of her West Point interview flashed through her mind:

“Hagar Khalifa. Your name clearly originates from somewhere else. What will you do if you are treated differently because of it?”

“Sir, considering I am applying to West Point, I don’t believe that would be an issue.”

She shook her head, pulling herself back to the present. She found herself absentmindedly helping Ned pry the bicycle free from the fence. It was then that she spotted the bike lock. “Ned,” she said, her voice regaining a semblance of authority. “I think this bike might actually belong to someone.”

Relinquishing the bike with a grunt of disappointment, they continued their aimless trek down the street. Hagar, barefoot and slightly irritated, couldn’t help but feel a surge of exhilaration. It was her first weekend of college, and she wasn’t holed up in her dorm room, nose buried in a book. She was out, experiencing life, even if it involved slightly drunk, ukulele-wielding companions and a distinct lack of footwear.

“Hey guys! Want BEER?”

Hagar turned towards the source of the enthusiastic shout. A girl was precariously perched in the doorway of a nearby apartment building, her white-knuckled grip on the door the only thing keeping her upright as it swung back and forth. She wore a belly shirt and a headband, her face flushed with excitement. “We have weed!” she added with a wink.

Ned, his face lighting up with enthusiasm, grabbed Hagar’s forearm and pulled her towards the apartment. They shuffled through the narrow doorway, entering a surprisingly well-lit space. Hagar instantly recognized several familiar faces – Army cadets she had met during orientation.

“Khalifa! Guys, it’s the freshman!” one of them shouted across the room.

She turned to see Jeff Fisher, one of the older cadets in her program, beckoning her towards a circle of military-regulation haircuts and tightly bound hair, as if they were all still in uniform. “Khalifa, remember these guys? Probably not.” He laughed, his voice booming over the music. “Mortimer, Grimes, and Kennedy,” he said, indicating a girl Hagar vaguely recalled and two other cadets.

“Are all Egyptians good at the PT test or what?” Mortimer asked.

Was that a compliment? Hagar wondered. They had all taken the physical fitness test the previous week. She had exceeded her own expectations, scoring the second highest in the entire battalion.

“No, it’s whatever,” she mumbled, downplaying her accomplishment. “I didn’t expect to run well with the altitude.”

“Well, fuck, don’t worry about it,” Kennedy interjected. “We needed a powerful female this year. Don’t mind Mortimer; she’s just grumpy because there are hippies in the room,” he explained, elbowing Mortimer and gesturing towards a group passing a joint nearby. Mortimer scowled and stalked off.

Ned, his attention now firmly fixated on the enticing aroma of marijuana, angled towards the group, hoping to score a hit. Hagar trailed behind him, then stopped short. The presence of so many Army personnel gave her pause. She settled for a cigarette outside instead, the familiar burn a comforting constant in the whirlwind of her new life.

Later that night, as she and Ned stumbled across Farrand Field, making their way back to their dorm, Hagar’s phone rang. She silenced Ned, who had somehow acquired a stray ukulele and was enthusiastically, if erratically, strumming it.

“Mols?”

“Hagar.”

“Hey, what’s going on? Where are you?”

“Oh, fuck. I had a fucking shitty evening.”

“What happened?”

“Fucking cops. We were just sitting there, sharing a joint… I thought we were being pretty quiet, but they just appeared out of nowhere, like ‘HEY, whatcha doing?’ and the next thing I know, I’m getting a ticket…!”

“Mols, you can’t smoke weed on campus. Not during the first few weeks of school, anyway!” Hagar exclaimed, exasperated. It seemed like common sense to her. During orientation, the sophomores had warned them about the crackdown on marijuana use during the first few weeks of the semester, emphasizing the sheer number of citations issued. Hagar had heeded their advice, restricting her indulgence to off-campus locations. Apparently, Molly had not received the memo.

“Oh, well…” Molly trailed off, then gasped. “Hagar…! I think I’m being followed! What the fuck!”

Hagar rolled her eyes and handed the phone to Ned. “Mols, just get your ass home, we have better things to do!” he shouted into the receiver.

“Ffffffine. Don’t come get me…!” Molly’s voice was a high-pitched whine. Click.

Hagar sighed. Only a few weeks into college, and her roommate already had two run-ins with the police under her belt.

“Is someone actually following her?” Ned inquired in a stage whisper, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

“But of course,” Hagar replied dryly, a smile playing on her lips. They had finally reached Baker Hall and headed inside.

“By the way, those people seemed like dicks,” Ned commented as he fumbled with his sock hat. “The Army people at that house party. Total dicks.”

“Why? I don’t really know them,” Hagar replied, her defense of her fellow cadets halfhearted at best.

“They just seemed judgmental—” Ned began, then, true to his easily distracted nature, veered off on a tangent. “Do they think it’s strange you’re from Egypt and you’re in the Army?” he slurred, leaning heavily on Hagar as they climbed the dormitory stairs.

“Ned, you seem to be the only one hung up on that,” Hagar pointed out gently. No, he’s not, she thought, but let it slide.

“You’re trippy,” Ned declared, reaching out to ruffle Hagar’s curly hair, dislodging a shower of glitter and a few stray beer droplets. They had reached the entranceway of Baker Hall. Ned’s room was down the hall from Molly and Hagar’s. As Hagar stopped at her door and turned to unlock it, she watched Ned fondly as he continued down the hallway, his ukulele playing filling the air.

She shook her head and smiled. What a strange, wonderful, utterly bewildering place she had landed in.



</text>"""

Evaluation

I then ran the output above through PWA. This was a great way to evaluate the model output by using other AI powered tools. While the result produced better Grammar scores, the sentence length, glue index, and sentence variety are not quite where we would like them 👎.

Sentence Length 📏

Now let’s try to improve sentence length. When further digging into PWA, it breaks down the average sentence word count. So this will be the feature that we will target.

So I took the result of the last model generation ➡ that scored high on grammar, and used it as the text input for the long context window 🪟. I quickly discovered that giving the model a prompt with the average word count per sentence recommended by PWA did not suffice at all 👎. So several iterations went into the prompt below to get to the average sentence length ♻. For each prior iteration, I was still getting sentences that were too short when I followed PWA’s recommendations for sentence length Let’s examine what is happening 🏖

generation_config = {
    "max_output_tokens": 8192,
    "temperature": 1,
    "top_p": 0.95,
}

safety_settings = [
    SafetySetting(
        category=SafetySetting.HarmCategory.HARM_CATEGORY_HATE_SPEECH,
        threshold=SafetySetting.HarmBlockThreshold.BLOCK_MEDIUM_AND_ABOVE
    ),
    SafetySetting(
        category=SafetySetting.HarmCategory.HARM_CATEGORY_DANGEROUS_CONTENT,
        threshold=SafetySetting.HarmBlockThreshold.BLOCK_MEDIUM_AND_ABOVE
    ),
    SafetySetting(
        category=SafetySetting.HarmCategory.HARM_CATEGORY_SEXUALLY_EXPLICIT,
        threshold=SafetySetting.HarmBlockThreshold.BLOCK_MEDIUM_AND_ABOVE
    ),
    SafetySetting(
        category=SafetySetting.HarmCategory.HARM_CATEGORY_HARASSMENT,
        threshold=SafetySetting.HarmBlockThreshold.BLOCK_MEDIUM_AND_ABOVE
    ),
]

Once again, I incorporated advice directly from PWA’s evaluation page for sentence length ✅. This page outlines all of the good and bad about sentence length ✍.

Almost all of the articles included examples. I actually achieved poorer 👎 performance by including few-shot examples, and achieved the best with detailed but short directions.

text1 = """Improve the sentence length in the following text. The average word sentence target is between 11 and 19 words. Lengthen some of the sentences.

Generate the same chapter without losing the voice and tone of the author.

Consider the context below for sentence improvement:

<context>

Sentence length affects your reader\'s experience. Texts with lots of long sentences will exhaust your readers. On the other hand, texts with lots of short sentences will create a choppy, disjointed reading experience.
Your chosen genre should drive your average sentence length target. In the chart below, you can see that writers in different genres use very different average sentence lengths, depending on whether their primary aim is to inform or entertain.
If you want to write a page-turner for general audiences without specialized academic knowledge, then stick to the shorter sentence lengths favored by Thriller and Romance writers.

How Sentence Length Affects Readability
There\'s a correlation between readability and sentence length. As average sentence lengths increase, the grade level (number of years of education) required to read the text also increases.
Most published fiction has an average grade level of 4 to 6. That means it\'s accessible to ages 9 to 12. If you want your writing to be accessible to a mass market audience, you should write at those grade levels. Many beginner fiction writers are amazed by how low their target grade level should be
If you need to increase your sentence length, try using coordinating conjunctions like \"and\" or \"but\" to join together sentences with similar ideas.
The key to reducing long sentences, on the other hand, is to focus on the \"meat and potato\" words of the sentence. These are the words that give the sentence meaning: the subject, verb, and object.If you\'re trying to reduce the length of a sentence, start by writing out the meat and potato words. Then ask yourself what other information in the sentence really needs to be there.
The answer? Only add things that add valuable information to the sentence. If you\'re not sure if they\'re needed then they probably aren\'t!

</context>

<text>

Party Boulder, Colorado
“Just go barefoot,” Ned said.

“What?” Hagar exclaimed, incredulous.

“Just take your damn shoes off and go barefoot.”

“But… I’m in the street. It’s dirty. And there’s definitely broken glass somewhere.”

“Everyone is barefoot here. It’s Boulder. Relax.” Ned rolled his eyes at Hagar’s caution, truly wondering how she had ended up at a place like this. Sighing, Hagar bent down and peeled her shoes off.

Hagar considered her first few weeks in Boulder a success, or at least she wanted to believe they were. She had befriended Ned during orientation; their initial conversation had sparked an instant connection. Now, watching him wave a group of college partygoers down the sidewalk, she laughed at the memory of their first encounter.

The campus tour had been testing the limits of her patience. Seeking refuge, Hagar perched on a low brick wall outside Baker Hall, her new dormitory and a designated stop on the tour. Pretending to be engrossed in her Blackberry phone, she was actually playing Snake, waiting for the tour group to move on.

“Yo.”

She looked up, startled, then to her left. Ned sat beside her, his sharp blue eyes fixed on her. Not in the mood for socializing, she recoiled.

“Yo,” she replied, noticing his deep blue knit sock hat, a color that almost matched his eyes. “You know it’s way too fucking hot outside to be wearing that.” She gestured outward as if addressing the oppressive late August heat.

A wide grin spread across Ned’s face.

“I like you. Let’s be friends. I’m Ned.” He leaned in for a hug.

“Hagar,” she said, returning the embrace.

Ned straightened his sock hat.
 “Do you have another one of those?” he asked, gesturing at her cigarette. Hagar pulled out her pack of Marlboro Reds and offered him one. He wrinkled his nose but took it.

“You don’t have anything chiller? Spirits?” he asked, accepting her lighter.

“No. These are weak compared to the ones I am used to at home.”

“Where’s home?” He lit the cigarette.

“Egypt.” Regret flickered through her mind; the subject had surfaced too soon.

“Oh. Like pharaohs and shit?”

“Yeah. Like that.” Her voice held a hint of weariness.

They spent the remainder of the day in comfortable silence, trailing their orientation group across the sprawling campus. Hagar discovered that Ned also resided in Baker Hall. Whenever the tour paused, they would steal moments to share cigarettes, their silences speaking volumes.

Now, several weeks later, stumbling along with her shoes in hand, Hagar found herself pulled down to the sidewalk by a drunken Ned, who plopped onto the ground with a satisfied grunt. She smiled, realizing she had never seen him without his signature knit sock hat. On the rare occasions he removed it to rake his fingers through his hair, she glimpsed brown, slightly curly locks, cut at a length that hovered between stylishly long and charmingly disheveled.

At this juncture in Hagar’s journey, we find her amidst a whirlwind of feathered hair extensions, glitter, thrift shop expeditions, bicycle rides down Pearl Street, and visits to local coffee shops boasting menus overflowing with gluten-free, vegan, environmentally conscious, and locally sourced fare. She spent her days navigating the unfamiliar terrain of college life with other awkward freshmen, all grappling with their newfound independence. A typical outing might involve scavenging for vintage treasures at the thrift shop, spontaneous ukulele sessions, and of course, indulging in the town’s beloved pastime: smoking weed.

Students descended upon Boulder, eager to immerse themselves in winter sports. They arrived with expensive gear and season-long passes to Vail, skipping class to chase fresh powder. Some boasted luxury cars; others, top-of-the-line bicycles. A mere handful of weeks into the semester, even the most self-assured former high school cheerleaders were cultivating dreadlocks, while their shyer counterparts discreetly adorned their hair with tinsel extensions, daring to add feathers on adventurous days. Ned, ever the keen observer, would point these transformations out to Hagar as they engaged in their favorite pastime of people-watching, and Hagar, like a tourist in a foreign land, absorbed every detail.

Hagar’s single, experimental foray into weed during high school had blossomed into a regular habit. It offered a sense of calm, a familiar thread connecting her old life in Egypt to the unfamiliar tapestry of her new home in America. However, as the weeks wore on, the realization that her army scholarship could be revoked due to marijuana use tempered her enjoyment with a growing sense of apprehension. Now, her relationship with the drug vacillated between love and loathing, a constant internal struggle.

It’s about control, or rather, my lack of it, she thought. I\'m terrified that something will happen while I\'m high, something that will send me straight back to Egypt. The fear was always there, lurking in the back of her mind.

Her roommate, Molly, was a tall blonde with a lazy eye and an unwavering devotion to the color pink—not a soft, subtle shade, but a loud, almost neon pink. It dominated their dorm room, splashed across her clothes, a constant visual assault. Molly embraced the Boulder aesthetic with gusto, sporting blonde hair extensions, snowboarding attire, and peppering her conversations with pronouncements about \"shredding\" whenever attractive boys were within earshot. And like many in Boulder, Molly loved her weed. It was medical, she claimed, a necessary remedy for her insomnia and chronic back pain, the unfortunate souvenirs of a snowboarding mishap.

“Hagar!” Ned’s voice, laced with laughter, sliced through her thoughts. “What did you think?” he repeated, louder than necessary.

“It was… interesting.” She injected apathy into her tone. A beat of silence. “Where’s Molly?” she asked, scanning their surroundings.

“Who knows? Last I saw, she ran off with some dude.” Ned shook his head. “No controlling that chick when she’s had a few,” he said.

“Shouldn’t we try to find her?” Concern colored her voice.

“Nah.” Ned avoided her gaze.

“So, Hagar.” He shifted, eager to change the subject. “How did you end up in Boulder? You seem… out of place here.” He slurred, his words jumbled.

Hagar paused, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation.

“Well, it was my second choice.” She immediately worried that she sounded conceited.

“Second?” Ned scoffed, as if the mere concept of Boulder being relegated to second place was unfathomable. “Psh. Where was your first choice then?”

“West Point,” Hagar admitted, bracing herself for the inevitable reaction.

“Like… the military place?” Ned’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Yes.”
This reaction, she had learned to expect. It was a familiar script, one she had recited countless times since arriving in Boulder. Wait, the military academy? You mean the United States Military Academy? How does that even work? Are you American? Can non-Americans even go there? Why the military? That’s such a strange choice. Did you get in? I hear it’s incredibly difficult. Why didn\'t you go?

“It’s complicated.” She sighed.

“So that’s why you’re doing that Army program here, right?” Ned’s voice held a hint of disapproval, another familiar note in the symphony of reactions to her military affiliation.

“Yes. ROTC. They’re paying for school. It’s not a terrible deal. It was the only way for me to come to America,” she explained, her words tumbling out.

Ned nodded, processing the information. Then, with the fickleness of the inebriated, his attention darted elsewhere. “Can you get a DUI if you ride a bike intoxicated?” he asked, already stumbling towards a bicycle propped against a nearby fence.

“I think so. I know you can get one for driving a golf cart.” Hagar hurried after him.

This wasn’t the first time she had felt a pang of shame about being in the Army program. Initially, she assumed it would be met with respect and admiration. However, she realized that the general sentiment at the University of Colorado was far from enthusiastic. Each conversation about her military involvement chipped away at her confidence, leaving her questioning whether accepting the Army scholarship had been the right decision. The memory of her West Point interview flashed through her mind:

“Hagar Khalifa. Your name clearly originates from somewhere else. What will you do if you are treated differently because of it?”

“Sir, considering I am applying to West Point, I don’t believe that would be an issue.”

She shook her head, pulling herself back to the present. She found herself helping Ned pry the bicycle free from the fence. It was then that she spotted the bike lock.

“Ned,” she said, her voice regaining authority. “I think this bike might actually belong to someone.”

Relinquishing the bike with a grunt of disappointment, they continued their aimless trek down the street. Hagar, barefoot and irritated, couldn’t help but feel exhilarated. It was her first weekend of college, and she wasn’t holed up in her dorm room, nose buried in a book. She was out, experiencing life, even if it involved a slightly drunk, ukulele-wielding companion and a distinct lack of footwear.

“Hey guys! Want BEER?”

Hagar turned towards the source of the enthusiastic shout. A girl was perched in the doorway of a nearby apartment building, her white-knuckled grip on the door the only thing keeping her upright as it swung back and forth. She wore a belly shirt and a headband, her face flushed with excitement.
 “We have weed!” she added with a wink.

Ned, his face lighting up, grabbed Hagar’s forearm and pulled her towards the apartment. They shuffled through the narrow doorway, entering a well-lit space. Hagar recognized several familiar faces – Army cadets she had met during orientation.

“Khalifa! Guys, it’s the freshman!” someone shouted.

She turned to see Jeff Fisher, one of the older cadets in her program, beckoning her towards a circle of military-regulation haircuts and bound hair, as if they were all still in uniform.
“Khalifa, remember these guys? Probably not.” He laughed, his voice booming over the music. “Mortimer, Grimes, and Kennedy.” He indicated a girl Hagar vaguely recalled and two other cadets.

“Are all Egyptians good at the PT test or what?” Mortimer asked.

Was that a compliment? Hagar wondered. They had all taken the physical fitness test the previous week. She had exceeded her own expectations, scoring the second highest in the entire battalion.

“No, it’s whatever. I didn’t expect to run well with the altitude,” Hagar admitted.

“Well, fuck, don’t worry about it,” Kennedy said. “We needed a powerful female this year. Don’t mind Mortimer; she’s just grumpy because there are hippies in the room.” He elbowed Mortimer and gestured towards a group passing a joint nearby. Mortimer scowled and stalked off.

Ned, his attention now fixated on the enticing aroma of weed, angled towards the group, hoping to score a hit. Hagar trailed behind him, then stopped short. The presence of so many Army personnel gave her pause. She settled for a cigarette outside instead, the familiar burn a comforting constant in the whirlwind of her new life.

Later that night, as she and Ned stumbled across Farrand Field, making their way back to their dorm, Hagar’s phone rang. She silenced Ned, who had somehow acquired a stray ukulele and was enthusiastically strumming it.

“Mols?” Hagar asked, mashing her phone to her ear to hear her better.

“Hagar!” Mols exclaimed, breathless.

“Hey, what’s going on? Where are you?” Hagar asked, turning around to see if she somehow could spot Mols even though they hadn’t been together all evening.

“Oh, fuck. I had a fucking shitty evening.” Mols was breathing heavily into the phone.

“What happened?” Hagar asked, motioning for Ned to approach her amidst the din of the party.

“Fucking cops. We were just sitting there, sharing a joint… I thought we were being pretty quiet, but they just appeared out of nowhere, like ‘HEY, whatcha doing?’ and the next thing I know, I’m getting a ticket…!” Mols exclaimed.

“Mols, you can’t smoke weed on campus. Not during the first few weeks of school, anyway!” Hagar said, exasperated. It seemed like common sense to her. During orientation, the sophomores had warned them about the crackdown on marijuana use during the first few weeks of the semester, emphasizing the sheer number of citations issued. Hagar had heeded their advice, restricting her indulgence to off-campus locations. Apparently, Molly had not received the memo.

“Oh, well…” Molly trailed off, then gasped. “Hagar…! I think I’m being followed! What the fuck!”

Hagar rolled her eyes and handed the phone to Ned, but not before saying: “Mols, just get your ass home, we have better things to do!”
“Ffffffine. Don’t come get me…!” Molly’s voice was a high-pitched whine. Click.

Hagar sighed. Only a few weeks into college, and her roommate already had two run-ins with the police.

“Is someone actually following her?” Ned’s tone was thick with sarcasm as he handed Hagar her phone.

“But of course.” Hagar smiled. They had finally reached Baker Hall and headed inside.

“By the way, those people seemed like dicks,” Ned commented as he fumbled with his sock hat. “The Army people at that house party. Total dicks.”

“Why? I don’t really know them.” Hagar’s defense of her fellow cadets was halfhearted.

“They just seemed judgmental—” Ned began, then, true to his distracted nature, veered off on a tangent.
“Do they think it’s strange you’re from Egypt and you’re in the Army?” He leaned on Hagar as they climbed the dormitory stairs.

“Ned, you seem to be the only one hung up on that.” No, he’s not, she thought, but let it slide.

“You’re trippy.” Ned reached out to ruffle Hagar’s curly hair, dislodging a shower of glitter and a few stray beer droplets. They had reached the entranceway of Baker Hall. Ned’s room was down the hall from Molly and Hagar’s. As Hagar stopped at her door and turned to unlock it, she watched Ned as he continued down the hallway, his ukulele playing filling the air.

She shook her head and smiled. What a strange, wonderful, utterly bewildering place she had landed in.



</text>"""

generate()

Here was the output (will vary if you are running this yourself because you know… LLMs are stochastic):

## Party Boulder, Colorado

"Just go barefoot," Ned said, his voice a casual suggestion. 

"What?" Hagar exclaimed, incredulous. Her eyebrows shot up, her voice laced with disbelief.

"Just take your damn shoes off and go barefoot," Ned repeated, his tone hardening slightly.

"But… I'm in the street. It's dirty. And there's definitely broken glass somewhere," Hagar protested, her voice wavering between annoyance and concern.  She gestured towards the sidewalk, a mix of concrete and scattered debris.

"Everyone is barefoot here. It's Boulder. Relax," Ned said, rolling his eyes at her caution. He truly wondered how she had ended up at a place like this. Sighing, Hagar bent down and peeled her shoes off, her fingers fumbling with the buckles. 

Hagar considered her first few weeks in Boulder a success, or at least she wanted to believe they were. She had befriended Ned during orientation; their initial conversation, a chance encounter amidst the chaos of the campus tour, had sparked an instant connection. Now, watching him wave a group of college partygoers down the sidewalk, she laughed at the memory of their first encounter.

The campus tour had been testing the limits of her patience. Seeking refuge, Hagar perched on a low brick wall outside Baker Hall, her new dormitory and a designated stop on the tour. Pretending to be engrossed in her Blackberry phone, she was actually playing Snake, waiting for the tour group to move on.

"Yo."

She looked up, startled, then to her left. Ned sat beside her, his sharp blue eyes fixed on her. Not in the mood for socializing, she recoiled slightly, a defensive instinct kicking in.

"Yo," she replied, noticing his deep blue knit sock hat, a color that almost matched his eyes. "You know it's way too fucking hot outside to be wearing that," she said, gesturing outward as if addressing the oppressive late August heat.

A wide grin spread across Ned's face, his teeth gleaming white against his tanned skin. 

"I like you. Let's be friends. I'm Ned," he said, leaning in for a hug.

"Hagar," she said, returning the embrace.  His arm wrapped around her shoulders, a surprisingly comforting gesture. 

Ned straightened his sock hat, a small adjustment that seemed to solidify his presence. 

"Do you have another one of those?" he asked, gesturing at her cigarette. Hagar pulled out her pack of Marlboro Reds and offered him one. He wrinkled his nose but took it, his fingers a bit clumsy with the pack. 

"You don't have anything chiller? Spirits?" he asked, accepting her lighter.

"No. These are weak compared to the ones I am used to at home," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. 

"Where's home?" He lit the cigarette, the flame illuminating his features.

"Egypt." Regret flickered through her mind; the subject had surfaced too soon.

"Oh. Like pharaohs and shit?" Ned asked, a playful tone in his voice.

"Yeah. Like that," she said, her voice holding a hint of weariness. 

They spent the remainder of the day in comfortable silence, trailing their orientation group across the sprawling campus. Hagar discovered that Ned also resided in Baker Hall, their dorm. Whenever the tour paused, they would steal moments to share cigarettes, their silences speaking volumes, their shared experiences forming an unspoken bond. 

Now, several weeks later, stumbling along with her shoes in hand, Hagar found herself pulled down to the sidewalk by a drunken Ned, who plopped onto the ground with a satisfied grunt. She smiled, realizing she had never seen him without his signature knit sock hat. On the rare occasions he removed it to rake his fingers through his hair, she glimpsed brown, slightly curly locks, cut at a length that hovered between stylishly long and charmingly disheveled.  His eyes, however, always held that same spark, a mischievous glint that drew her in.

At this juncture in Hagar's journey, we find her amidst a whirlwind of feathered hair extensions, glitter, thrift shop expeditions, bicycle rides down Pearl Street, and visits to local coffee shops boasting menus overflowing with gluten-free, vegan, environmentally conscious, and locally sourced fare. She spent her days navigating the unfamiliar terrain of college life with other awkward freshmen, all grappling with their newfound independence. A typical outing might involve scavenging for vintage treasures at the thrift shop, spontaneous ukulele sessions, and of course, indulging in the town's beloved pastime: smoking weed. 

Students descended upon Boulder, eager to immerse themselves in winter sports. They arrived with expensive gear and season-long passes to Vail, skipping class to chase fresh powder. Some boasted luxury cars; others, top-of-the-line bicycles. A mere handful of weeks into the semester, even the most self-assured former high school cheerleaders were cultivating dreadlocks, while their shyer counterparts discreetly adorned their hair with tinsel extensions, daring to add feathers on adventurous days. Ned, ever the keen observer, would point these transformations out to Hagar as they engaged in their favorite pastime of people-watching, and Hagar, like a tourist in a foreign land, absorbed every detail.

Hagar's single, experimental foray into weed during high school had blossomed into a regular habit. It offered a sense of calm, a familiar thread connecting her old life in Egypt to the unfamiliar tapestry of her new home in America. However, as the weeks wore on, the realization that her army scholarship could be revoked due to marijuana use tempered her enjoyment with a growing sense of apprehension. Now, her relationship with the drug vacillated between love and loathing, a constant internal struggle. 

"It's about control," she thought, "or rather, my lack of it. I'm terrified that something will happen while I'm high, something that will send me straight back to Egypt." The fear was always there, lurking in the back of her mind, a persistent shadow threatening to consume her.

Her roommate, Molly, was a tall blonde with a lazy eye and an unwavering devotion to the color pink – not a soft, subtle shade, but a loud, almost neon pink. It dominated their dorm room, splashed across her clothes, a constant visual assault. Molly embraced the Boulder aesthetic with gusto, sporting blonde hair extensions, snowboarding attire, and peppering her conversations with pronouncements about "shredding" whenever attractive boys were within earshot. And like many in Boulder, Molly loved her weed. It was medical, she claimed, a necessary remedy for her insomnia and chronic back pain, the unfortunate souvenirs of a snowboarding mishap.

"Hagar!" Ned's voice, laced with laughter, sliced through her thoughts. "What did you think?" he repeated, louder than necessary, his words slightly slurred.

"It was… interesting," she said, injecting apathy into her tone. A beat of silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension. "Where's Molly?" she asked, scanning their surroundings, her eyes searching the crowded party.

"Who knows? Last I saw, she ran off with some dude," Ned said, shaking his head. "No controlling that chick when she's had a few," he added, a hint of amusement in his voice. 

"Shouldn't we try to find her?" Concern colored her voice, her brow furrowing with worry.

"Nah," Ned said, avoiding her gaze, his eyes darting around the party.

"So, Hagar," he shifted, eager to change the subject. "How did you end up in Boulder? You seem... out of place here." 

Hagar paused, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. "Well, it was my second choice," she admitted, immediately worrying that she sounded conceited. 

"Second?" Ned scoffed, as if the mere concept of Boulder being relegated to second place was unfathomable. "Psh. Where was your first choice then?"

"West Point," Hagar admitted, bracing herself for the inevitable reaction.

"Like… the military place?" Ned's eyes widened in surprise, his jaw slightly slack. 

"Yes," she replied, her voice calm, but her mind racing through the endless list of questions that usually followed. 

"Wait, the military academy? You mean the United States Military Academy? How does that even work? Are you American? Can non-Americans even go there? Why the military? That's such a strange choice. Did you get in? I hear it's incredibly difficult. Why didn't you go?" 

The questions always came in a rapid-fire barrage, a relentless assault on her identity and choices. 

"It's complicated," she sighed, her voice carrying a weariness she couldn't quite mask. 

"So that's why you're doing that Army program here, right?" Ned's voice held a hint of disapproval, another familiar note in the symphony of reactions to her military affiliation.

"Yes. ROTC. They're paying for school. It's not a terrible deal. It was the only way for me to come to America," she explained, her words tumbling out, each syllable carrying the weight of her past decisions. 

Ned nodded, processing the information. Then, with the fickleness of the inebriated, his attention darted elsewhere. "Can you get a DUI if you ride a bike intoxicated?" he asked, already stumbling towards a bicycle propped against a nearby fence.

"I think so. I know you can get one for driving a golf cart," Hagar said, hurrying after him, her steps a bit unsteady as she tried to keep pace with his drunken wanderings. 

This wasn't the first time she had felt a pang of shame about being in the Army program. Initially, she assumed it would be met with respect and admiration. However, she realized that the general sentiment at the University of Colorado was far from enthusiastic. Each conversation about her military involvement chipped away at her confidence, leaving her questioning whether accepting the Army scholarship had been the right decision. The memory of her West Point interview flashed through her mind:

"Hagar Khalifa. Your name clearly originates from somewhere else. What will you do if you are treated differently because of it?"

"Sir, considering I am applying to West Point, I don't believe that would be an issue," she had replied, her voice confident, her gaze unwavering. 

She shook her head, pulling herself back to the present. She found herself helping Ned pry the bicycle free from the fence. It was then that she spotted the bike lock.

"Ned," she said, her voice regaining authority. "I think this bike might actually belong to someone."

Relinquishing the bike with a grunt of disappointment, they continued their aimless trek down the street. Hagar, barefoot and irritated, couldn't help but feel exhilarated. It was her first weekend of college, and she wasn't holed up in her dorm room, nose buried in a book. She was out, experiencing life, even if it involved a slightly drunk, ukulele-wielding companion and a distinct lack of footwear.

"Hey guys! Want BEER?"

Hagar turned towards the source of the enthusiastic shout. A girl was perched in the doorway of a nearby apartment building, her white-knuckled grip on the door the only thing keeping her upright as it swung back and forth. She wore a belly shirt and a headband, her face flushed with excitement. 

"We have weed!" she added with a wink, her voice barely audible over the thumping music.

Ned, his face lighting up, grabbed Hagar's forearm and pulled her towards the apartment. They shuffled through the narrow doorway, entering a well-lit space. Hagar recognized several familiar faces – Army cadets she had met during orientation.

"Khalifa! Guys, it's the freshman!" someone shouted.

She turned to see Jeff Fisher, one of the older cadets in her program, beckoning her towards a circle of military-regulation haircuts and bound hair, as if they were all still in uniform. 

"Khalifa, remember these guys? Probably not," he laughed, his voice booming over the music. "Mortimer, Grimes, and Kennedy." He indicated a girl Hagar vaguely recalled and two other cadets.  

"Are all Egyptians good at the PT test or what?" Mortimer asked, her voice laced with a hint of sarcasm.

Was that a compliment? Hagar wondered. They had all taken the physical fitness test the previous week. She had exceeded her own expectations, scoring the second highest in the entire battalion.

"No, it's whatever. I didn't expect to run well with the altitude," Hagar admitted, her voice a mixture of self-deprecation and confidence.

"Well, fuck, don't worry about it," Kennedy said, his hand landing on Mortimer's shoulder. "We needed a powerful female this year. Don't mind Mortimer; she's just grumpy because there are hippies in the room," he said, elbowing Mortimer and gesturing towards a group passing a joint nearby. Mortimer scowled and stalked off, her anger simmering beneath the surface.

Ned, his attention now fixated on the enticing aroma of weed, angled towards the group, hoping to score a hit. Hagar trailed behind him, then stopped short. The presence of so many Army personnel gave her pause. She settled for a cigarette outside instead, the familiar burn a comforting constant in the whirlwind of her new life.

Later that night, as she and Ned stumbled across Farrand Field, making their way back to their dorm, Hagar's phone rang. She silenced Ned, who had somehow acquired a stray ukulele and was enthusiastically strumming it, his fingers dancing across the strings.

"Mols?" Hagar asked, mashing her phone to her ear to hear her better, her voice barely audible over the music.

"Hagar!" Mols exclaimed, breathless, her voice filled with a mix of panic and excitement. 

"Hey, what's going on? Where are you?" Hagar asked, turning around to see if she could somehow spot Mols even though they hadn't been together all evening.

"Oh, fuck. I had a fucking shitty evening," Mols said, her voice a rapid-fire stream of complaints. 

"What happened?" Hagar asked, motioning for Ned to approach her amidst the din of the party, her voice a calm counterpoint to her roommate's hysteria. 

"Fucking cops. We were just sitting there, sharing a joint… I thought we were being pretty quiet, but they just appeared out of nowhere, like 'HEY, whatcha doing?' and the next thing I know, I'm getting a ticket…!" Mols exclaimed. 

"Mols, you can't smoke weed on campus. Not during the first few weeks of school, anyway!" Hagar said, exasperated. It seemed like common sense to her. During orientation, the sophomores had warned them about the crackdown on marijuana use during the first few weeks of the semester, emphasizing the sheer number of citations issued. Hagar had heeded their advice, restricting her indulgence to off-campus locations. Apparently, Molly had not received the memo.

"Oh, well…" Molly trailed off, then gasped. "Hagar…! I think I'm being followed! What the fuck!"

Hagar rolled her eyes and handed the phone to Ned, but not before saying: "Mols, just get your ass home, we have better things to do!"
"Ffffffine. Don't come get me…!" Molly's voice was a high-pitched whine. Click.

Hagar sighed. Only a few weeks into college, and her roommate already had two run-ins with the police.

"Is someone actually following her?" Ned's tone was thick with sarcasm as he handed Hagar her phone.

"But of course," Hagar said, a wry smile playing on her lips. They had finally reached Baker Hall and headed inside, her bare feet padding softly against the tile floor.

"By the way, those people seemed like dicks," Ned commented as he fumbled with his sock hat. "The Army people at that house party. Total dicks."

"Why? I don't really know them," Hagar said, her defense of her fellow cadets halfhearted. 

"They just seemed judgmental—" Ned began, then, true to his distracted nature, veered off on a tangent.

"Do they think it's strange you're from Egypt and you're in the Army?" He leaned on Hagar as they climbed the dormitory stairs, his arm resting on her shoulder.

"Ned, you seem to be the only one hung up on that," Hagar replied, her voice a mix of amusement and exasperation. No, he's not, she thought, but let it slide, choosing to ignore the undercurrent of his comment.

"You're trippy," Ned said, reaching out to ruffle Hagar's curly hair, dislodging a shower of glitter and a few stray beer droplets. They had reached the entranceway of Baker Hall. Ned's room was down the hall from Molly and Hagar's. As Hagar stopped at her door and turned to unlock it, she watched Ned as he continued down the hallway, his ukulele playing filling the air.

She shook her head and smiled. What a strange, wonderful, utterly bewildering place she had landed in. 

Oops, What is Happening with Grammar?

So after I was satisfied 🙂 with sentence length and worked on a few other variables in the same way, I went to my final report and was dismayed 😯 . The grammar score had gone down ⬇ again after all of the work I had done. So I had to reuse ♻ the grammar prompt I used previously to produce a better ⬆ result.

So when we re-run the manuscript through the same grammar improvement prompt we used before… Keep going to see the result!

generation_config = {
    "max_output_tokens": 8192,
    "temperature": 1,
    "top_p": 0.95,
}

safety_settings = [
    SafetySetting(
        category=SafetySetting.HarmCategory.HARM_CATEGORY_HATE_SPEECH,
        threshold=SafetySetting.HarmBlockThreshold.BLOCK_MEDIUM_AND_ABOVE
    ),
    SafetySetting(
        category=SafetySetting.HarmCategory.HARM_CATEGORY_DANGEROUS_CONTENT,
        threshold=SafetySetting.HarmBlockThreshold.BLOCK_MEDIUM_AND_ABOVE
    ),
    SafetySetting(
        category=SafetySetting.HarmCategory.HARM_CATEGORY_SEXUALLY_EXPLICIT,
        threshold=SafetySetting.HarmBlockThreshold.BLOCK_MEDIUM_AND_ABOVE
    ),
    SafetySetting(
        category=SafetySetting.HarmCategory.HARM_CATEGORY_HARASSMENT,
        threshold=SafetySetting.HarmBlockThreshold.BLOCK_MEDIUM_AND_ABOVE
    ),
]

text1 = """Improve the grammar score in the text below.

Keep the tone, voice, and spirit of the text as much as possible.

Generate the same chapter but with improved grammar.

Consider the following context for improvements:

<context>

Aim for a Grammar Score of 100%. Grammar mistakes make your work look unprofessional and can interfere with your audience’s understanding of what you’re trying to say.
The Grammar Report checks for thousands of mistakes, from simple rules like subject-verb agreement to more complex and less common rules like using the word “allows” with a gerund. Here are a few of the mistakes highlighted in the Grammar Report:
confused words, such as “adverse” and “averse”
incorrect use of superlatives
incorrect ending punctuation
comma splices
missing commas
confused indefinite articles

Improving your grammar score will improve the credibility of your writing.
How to Accept a Grammar Suggestion
When you run the Grammar Report, you’ll receive a list of the errors in your document. Clicking into each error will give you an explanation of the rule, as well as options to fix it.
Some errors may have multiple suggestions; others will have only one. If there isn’t a suggestion, you can manually fix the error.

<context/>

<text>
Party
Boulder, Colorado
“Just go barefoot,” Ned suggested, his tone nonchalant..
“What?” she exclaimed, her voice laced with disbelief. “You want me to take my shoes off? Here? In the middle of the street?”
Ned rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Yes, Hagar. Just take your shoes off and go barefoot. Everyone does it here. It’s Boulder. Relax.” He couldn't fathom how someone as seemingly adventurous as Hagar had ended up so apprehensive in this laid-back town. Sighing, Hagar bent down and peeled off her shoes, her bare feet meeting the cool pavement with a slight shiver despite the September heat. There was a slight chill in the air, early hints of fall.
She thought about her first few weeks in Boulder, assuring herself they were a success. Her friendship with Ned, ignited during orientation, had become a source of comfort. Watching him now, drunkenly waving to a group of college partygoers on the sidewalk, she couldn't help but laugh at the memory of their first encounter.

The campus tour had been incredibly boring, prompting Hagar to seek refuge on a low brick wall outside Baker Hall, her new dorm. While pretending to be engrossed in her Blackberry phone, she was actually playing Snake, desperately waiting for the tour group to move on.
“Hello.”
Startled, Hagar looked up to find the source of the voice–a young man with sharp blue eyes sat beside her, his gaze unwavering. Not in the mood for socializing, she instinctively recoiled.
“Hello,” she replied, her eyes drawn to his deep blue knit sock hat. “You know it’s way too hot outside to be wearing that, right?” She gestured outward, as if addressing the oppressive late August heat (for at the time it was August, the beginning of the school year and prime time for dormitory tours).
A wide grin spread across the young man’s face. “I like you. Let’s be friends. I’m Ned.” He leaned in for a hug, catching Hagar off guard.
“Hagar,” she replied, returning the embrace despite her initial hesitation.

Ned straightened his sock hat, his grin unwavering. “Do you have another one of those?” he asked, gesturing at her cigarette. Hagar pulled out her pack of Marlboro Reds and offered him one. He wrinkled his nose nonetheless.
“You don’t have anything less… potent? Spirits?” he asked, accepting her lighter with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“No. These are weak compared to the ones I am used to at home,” she replied, her voice tinged with laughter.
“Where’s home?” He lit the cigarette, his eyes curious.
“Egypt.” A flicker of regret coursed through her; the subject had surfaced far too soon, exposing a vulnerability she wasn't ready to share.
“Oh. Like pharaohs and shit?”
“Yeah. Like that.” Her voice held a hint of weariness, a weariness that spoke of a life left behind, a past she wasn't ready to unpack.
They spent the rest of the day in comfortable silence, trailing their orientation group across the sprawling campus. Hagar discovered that Ned also resided in Baker Hall, their shared dormitory becoming an unexpected anchor in this unfamiliar territory. Whenever the tour paused, they would steal moments to share cigarettes, their silences speaking volumes, forging a bond built on unspoken understanding and a shared sense of displacement.

Now, several weeks later, stumbling along with her shoes in hand, Hagar found herself pulled down to the sidewalk by a drunken Ned, who plopped onto the ground with a satisfied grunt. She smiled, realizing she had never seen him without his signature knit sock hat. On the rare occasions he removed it to rake his fingers through his hair, she caught glimpses of brown, slightly curly locks, a length that hovered between stylish and messy, much like his personality.
At this point in Hagar’s journey, we find her surrounded by feathered hair extensions, glitter, thrift shops, bike rides, and local coffee shops, her days spent navigating college life alongside other awkward freshmen. A typical outing might involve searching for vintage treasures at the thrift shop, impromptu ukulele sessions, and of course, smoking weed–a quintessential Boulder experience.
Students descended upon Boulder, eager to experience winter sports. Some boasted luxury cars; others, top-of-the-line bicycles. Within weeks, even the most self-assured former high school cheerleaders were cultivating dreadlocks, while their shyer counterparts discreetly adorned their hair with tinsel extensions, daring to add feathers on adventurous days. Ned, ever the keen observer, would point these transformations out to Hagar as they people-watched, and Hagar, like a tourist in a foreign land, absorbed every detail, every quirk of this new culture.
Hagar’s occasional weed use in high school had become a regular habit in Boulder. It offered a sense of calm, a familiar thread connecting her old life in Egypt to her new home in America. However, as the weeks wore on, the realization that her army scholarship could be revoked due to marijuana use tempered her enjoyment with apprehension, casting a shadow over her newfound freedom.
It’s about control, or rather, my lack of it- I'm terrified that something will happen while I'm high, something that will send me straight back to Egypt.
The fear was always there, a constant reminder of the precarious nature of her situation.
Her roommate, Molly, was a tall blonde with a lazy eye and a love for the color pink-not a soft, subtle shade, but a loud, almost neon pink that dominated their dorm room. Molly embraced the Boulder aesthetic with gusto, sporting blonde hair extensions, snowboarding attire, and talking about "shredding" whenever attractive boys were within earshot. And like many in Boulder, Molly loved her weed. It was medical, she claimed, a necessary remedy for her insomnia and chronic back pain.
“Hagar!” Ned’s voice, laced with laughter, sliced through her thoughts. “What did you think?” he repeated, louder than necessary.
“It was… interesting.” She injected apathy into her tone. “Where’s Molly?” she asked, a flicker of concern tugging at her.
“Who knows? Last I saw, she ran off with some dude.” Ned shook his head. “No controlling that chick when she’s had a few,” he said, his words slightly slurred.
“Shouldn’t we try to find her?” Concern colored her voice, but Ned seemed unfazed.
“Nah.” He avoided her gaze.
“So, Hagar.” He shifted again, eager to change the subject. “How did you end up in Boulder? You seem… out of place here.” He slurred, his words jumbled.
Hagar paused, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. “Well, it was my second choice.” She immediately worried that she sounded conceited.
“Second?” Ned scoffed, as if the mere concept of Boulder being relegated to second place was unfathomable. “Psh. Where was your first choice, then?”
“West Point,” Hagar admitted, bracing herself for the inevitable reaction.
“Like… the military place?” Ned’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Yes.”
This reaction she had learned to expect. It was a familiar script. Wait, the military academy? You mean the United States Military Academy? How does that even work? Are you American? Can non-Americans even go there? Why the military? That’s such a strange choice. Did you get in? I hear it’s incredibly difficult. Why didn't you go?

“It’s complicated.” She sighed, her voice heavy with unspoken explanations.
“So that’s why you’re in that army program here, right?” Ned’s voice held a hint of disapproval, a subtle judgment that stung more than outright condemnation.
“Yes. ROTC. They’re paying for school. It was the only way for me to come to America,” she explained, her words laced with a defensiveness she desperately wished she could shed.
Ned nodded, processing the information. Then, with the fickleness of the inebriated, his attention darted elsewhere. “Can you get a DUI if you ride a bike intoxicated?” he asked, already stumbling towards a bicycle.
“I think so. I know you can get one for driving a golf cart.” Hagar hurried after him, her bare feet slapping against the pavement.
This wasn’t the first time she had felt ashamed about being in the Army program. Initially, she assumed it would be met with respect. However, she realized that the general sentiment at the University of Colorado was far from enthusiastic. Each conversation about her military involvement chipped away at her confidence, making her question her choices. The memory of her West Point interview flashed through her mind:
“Hagar Khalifa. Your name clearly originates from somewhere else. What will you do if you are treated differently because of it?”
“Sir, considering I am applying to West Point, I don’t believe that would be an issue.” Her voice was a memory of youthful, naïve certainty.
She shook her head, pulling herself back to the present (at the moment, barefoot on the street with her shoes in her hand, standing on the sidewalk). She found herself helping Ned pry the bicycle free from the fence. It was then that she spotted the bike lock.
“Ned,” she said. “I think this bike might actually belong to someone.”
Relinquishing the bike, they continued their trek down the street. Hagar, barefoot and irritated, couldn’t help but feel exhilarated. It was her first weekend of college, and she wasn’t in her dorm room, trapped by her own thoughts.
“Hey guys! Want BEER?”
Hagar turned towards the source of the enthusiastic shout–a girl perched in the doorway of a nearby apartment building, her white-knuckled grip on the door the only thing keeping her upright. She wore a belly shirt and a headband, her face flushed with excitement.
“We have weed!” she added with a wink, her voice slurred and inviting.

Ned, his face lighting up, grabbed Hagar’s forearm and pulled her towards the apartment. They entered a well-lit space, and Hagar recognized several familiar faces–Army cadets she had met during orientation.
“Khalifa! Guys, it’s the freshman!” someone shouted, their voice booming over the music.
She turned to see Jeff Fisher, one of the older cadets, beckoning her towards a circle of military haircuts.
“Khalifa, remember these guys? Probably not.” He laughed. “Mortimer, Grimes, and Kennedy.” He indicated a girl Hagar vaguely recalled and two other cadets, their faces blurring together in her mind.
“Are all Egyptians good at the PT test or what?” Mortimer asked, her voice laced with a sardonic humor that Hagar couldn't quite decipher.
Was that a compliment? Hagar wondered. They had all taken the physical fitness test the previous week. She had exceeded her own expectations, her body pushing past its limits in a way that surprised even her.
“No, it’s whatever. I didn’t expect to run well with the altitude,” Hagar admitted, downplaying her accomplishment.
“Well, fuck, don’t worry about it,” Kennedy said, his tone reassuring. “We needed a powerful female this year. Don’t mind Mortimer; she’s just grumpy because there are hippies in the room.” He elbowed Mortimer, gesturing towards a group passing a joint nearby. Mortimer scowled and stalked off, disappearing into the crowd.
Ned, his attention now fixated on the weed, angled towards the group, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Hagar trailed behind him, then stopped short. The presence of so many Army personnel gave her pause, a sense of unease settling over her. She settled for a cigarette outside, the familiar ritual grounding her.
  Later that night, as she and Ned stumbled back to their dorm, Hagar’s phone rang. She silenced Ned, who had somehow acquired a ukulele and was enthusiastically strumming it, his off-key playing a jarring counterpoint to the quiet night.
“Mols?” Hagar asked, mashing her phone to her ear.
“Hagar!” Mols exclaimed, breathless, her voice thick with distress.
“Hey, what’s going on? Where are you?” Hagar asked, her brow furrowing with concern.
“Oh, fuck. I had a fucking shitty evening.” Mols was breathing heavily, her voice punctuated by sobs.
“What happened?” Hagar asked, motioning for Ned to approach her.
“Fucking cops. We were just sitting there, sharing a joint… I thought we were being pretty quiet, but they just appeared out of nowhere… and the next thing I know, I’m getting a ticket…!” Mols exclaimed, her words tumbling over each other in a rush of panic and indignation.
“Mols, you can’t smoke weed on campus. Not during the first few weeks of school, anyway!” Hagar said, exasperated. During orientation, the sophomores had warned them about the crackdown on marijuana use. Hagar had heeded their advice, restricting her indulgence to off-campus locations. Apparently, Molly had not.
“Oh, well…” Molly trailed off, then gasped. “Hagar…! I think I’m being followed! What the fuck!”
Hagar rolled her eyes and handed the phone to Ned. “Mols, just get yourself home. We have better things to do!”
“Ffffffine. Don’t come get me…!” Molly’s voice was a high-pitched whine.
Click.
Hagar sighed. Only a few weeks into college, and her roommate already had two run-ins with the police.
“Is someone actually following her?” Ned’s tone was thick with sarcasm as he handed Hagar her phone.
“But of course.” Hagar smiled, shaking her head at Molly’s antics. They had finally reached Baker Hall and headed inside, the familiar scent of stale beer and cleaning supplies washing over them.
“By the way, those people seemed like dicks,” Ned commented as he fumbled with his sock hat. “The Army people at that house party. Total dicks.”
“Why? I don’t really know them.” Hagar shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the encounter.
“They just seemed judgmental—” Ned began, then veered off on a tangent. “Do they think it’s strange you’re from Egypt and you’re in the Army?” He leaned on Hagar as they climbed the dormitory stairs, his words slightly slurred.
“Ned, you seem to be the only one hung up on that.” No, he’s not, she thought, but let it slide, too tired to engage in a debate.
“You’re trippy.” Ned reached out to ruffle Hagar’s curly hair, dislodging glitter and beer droplets. They had reached Hagar's door. As Hagar stopped and turned to unlock it, she watched Ned continue down the hallway, his ukulele playing filling the air, a strange and discordant melody fading into the distance.
She shook her head and smiled, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. What a strange, wonderful, utterly bewildering place she had landed in.

<text/>"""

👀 Notice the input manuscript is slightly different than the original input. This prompt chaining ⛓ enabled me to iteratively improve my manuscript by putting GenAI generated input back into a new prompt.

generate()

Here is the response I got:

## Party

Boulder, Colorado

“Just go barefoot,” Ned suggested, his tone nonchalant.

“What?” she exclaimed, her voice laced with disbelief. “You want me to take my shoes off? Here? In the middle of the street?”

Ned rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Yes, Hagar. Just take your shoes off and go barefoot. Everyone does it here. It's Boulder. Relax.” He couldn't fathom how someone as seemingly adventurous as Hagar had ended up so apprehensive in this laid-back town. Sighing, Hagar bent down and peeled off her shoes, her bare feet meeting the cool pavement with a slight shiver despite the September heat. There was a slight chill in the air, early hints of fall. 

She thought about her first few weeks in Boulder, assuring herself they were a success. Her friendship with Ned, ignited during orientation, had become a source of comfort. Watching him now, drunkenly waving to a group of college partygoers on the sidewalk, she couldn't help but laugh at the memory of their first encounter.

The campus tour had been incredibly boring, prompting Hagar to seek refuge on a low brick wall outside Baker Hall, her new dorm. While pretending to be engrossed in her Blackberry phone, she was actually playing Snake, desperately waiting for the tour group to move on. 

“Hello.” 

Startled, Hagar looked up to find the source of the voice—a young man with sharp blue eyes sat beside her, his gaze unwavering. Not in the mood for socializing, she instinctively recoiled. 

“Hello,” she replied, her eyes drawn to his deep blue knit sock hat. “You know it’s way too hot outside to be wearing that, right?” She gestured outward, as if addressing the oppressive late August heat (for at the time it was August, the beginning of the school year and prime time for dormitory tours).

A wide grin spread across the young man’s face. “I like you. Let’s be friends. I’m Ned.” He leaned in for a hug, catching Hagar off guard. 

“Hagar,” she replied, returning the embrace despite her initial hesitation.

Ned straightened his sock hat, his grin unwavering. “Do you have another one of those?” he asked, gesturing at her cigarette. Hagar pulled out her pack of Marlboro Reds and offered him one. He wrinkled his nose nonetheless.

“You don’t have anything less… potent? Spirits?” he asked, accepting her lighter with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“No. These are weak compared to the ones I am used to at home,” she replied, her voice tinged with laughter.

“Where’s home?” He lit the cigarette, his eyes curious.

“Egypt.” A flicker of regret coursed through her; the subject had surfaced far too soon, exposing a vulnerability she wasn’t ready to share.

“Oh. Like pharaohs and shit?”

“Yeah. Like that.” Her voice held a hint of weariness, a weariness that spoke of a life left behind, a past she wasn’t ready to unpack.

They spent the rest of the day in comfortable silence, trailing their orientation group across the sprawling campus. Hagar discovered that Ned also resided in Baker Hall, their shared dormitory becoming an unexpected anchor in this unfamiliar territory. Whenever the tour paused, they would steal moments to share cigarettes, their silences speaking volumes, forging a bond built on unspoken understanding and a shared sense of displacement.

Now, several weeks later, stumbling along with her shoes in hand, Hagar found herself pulled down to the sidewalk by a drunken Ned, who plopped onto the ground with a satisfied grunt. She smiled, realizing she had never seen him without his signature knit sock hat. On the rare occasions he removed it to rake his fingers through his hair, she caught glimpses of brown, slightly curly locks, a length that hovered between stylish and messy, much like his personality.

At this point in Hagar’s journey, we find her surrounded by feathered hair extensions, glitter, thrift shops, bike rides, and local coffee shops, her days spent navigating college life alongside other awkward freshmen. A typical outing might involve searching for vintage treasures at the thrift shop, impromptu ukulele sessions, and of course, smoking weed—a quintessential Boulder experience.

Students descended upon Boulder, eager to experience winter sports. Some boasted luxury cars; others, top-of-the-line bicycles. Within weeks, even the most self-assured former high school cheerleaders were cultivating dreadlocks, while their shyer counterparts discreetly adorned their hair with tinsel extensions, daring to add feathers on adventurous days. Ned, ever the keen observer, would point these transformations out to Hagar as they people-watched, and Hagar, like a tourist in a foreign land, absorbed every detail, every quirk of this new culture.

Hagar’s occasional weed use in high school had become a regular habit in Boulder. It offered a sense of calm, a familiar thread connecting her old life in Egypt to her new home in America. However, as the weeks wore on, the realization that her army scholarship could be revoked due to marijuana use tempered her enjoyment with apprehension, casting a shadow over her newfound freedom.

It’s about control, or rather, my lack of it—I’m terrified that something will happen while I’m high, something that will send me straight back to Egypt. 

The fear was always there, a constant reminder of the precarious nature of her situation.

Her roommate, Molly, was a tall blonde with a lazy eye and a love for the color pink—not a soft, subtle shade, but a loud, almost neon pink that dominated their dorm room. Molly embraced the Boulder aesthetic with gusto, sporting blonde hair extensions, snowboarding attire, and talking about “shredding” whenever attractive boys were within earshot. And like many in Boulder, Molly loved her weed. It was medical, she claimed, a necessary remedy for her insomnia and chronic back pain.

“Hagar!” Ned’s voice, laced with laughter, sliced through her thoughts. “What did you think?” he repeated, louder than necessary.

“It was… interesting.” She injected apathy into her tone. “Where’s Molly?” she asked, a flicker of concern tugging at her.

“Who knows? Last I saw, she ran off with some dude.” Ned shook his head. “No controlling that chick when she’s had a few,” he said, his words slightly slurred.

“Shouldn’t we try to find her?” Concern colored her voice, but Ned seemed unfazed.

“Nah.” He avoided her gaze.

“So, Hagar.” He shifted again, eager to change the subject. “How did you end up in Boulder? You seem… out of place here.” He slurred, his words jumbled.

Hagar paused, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. “Well, it was my second choice.” She immediately worried that she sounded conceited.

“Second?” Ned scoffed, as if the mere concept of Boulder being relegated to second place was unfathomable. “Psh. Where was your first choice, then?”

“West Point,” Hagar admitted, bracing herself for the inevitable reaction.

“Like… the military place?” Ned’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Yes.” 

This reaction she had learned to expect. It was a familiar script. Wait, the military academy? You mean the United States Military Academy? How does that even work? Are you American? Can non-Americans even go there? Why the military? That’s such a strange choice. Did you get in? I hear it’s incredibly difficult. Why didn't you go?

“It’s complicated.” She sighed, her voice heavy with unspoken explanations.

“So that’s why you’re in that army program here, right?” Ned’s voice held a hint of disapproval, a subtle judgment that stung more than outright condemnation.

“Yes. ROTC. They’re paying for school. It was the only way for me to come to America,” she explained, her words laced with a defensiveness she desperately wished she could shed. 

Ned nodded, processing the information. Then, with the fickleness of the inebriated, his attention darted elsewhere. “Can you get a DUI if you ride a bike intoxicated?” he asked, already stumbling towards a bicycle.

“I think so. I know you can get one for driving a golf cart.” Hagar hurried after him, her bare feet slapping against the pavement.

This wasn’t the first time she had felt ashamed about being in the Army program. Initially, she assumed it would be met with respect. However, she realized that the general sentiment at the University of Colorado was far from enthusiastic. Each conversation about her military involvement chipped away at her confidence, making her question her choices. The memory of her West Point interview flashed through her mind:

“Hagar Khalifa. Your name clearly originates from somewhere else. What will you do if you are treated differently because of it?” 

“Sir, considering I am applying to West Point, I don’t believe that would be an issue.” Her voice was a memory of youthful, naïve certainty.

She shook her head, pulling herself back to the present (at the moment, barefoot on the street with her shoes in her hand, standing on the sidewalk). She found herself helping Ned pry the bicycle free from the fence. It was then that she spotted the bike lock.

“Ned,” she said. “I think this bike might actually belong to someone.”

Relinquishing the bike, they continued their trek down the street. Hagar, barefoot and irritated, couldn’t help but feel exhilarated. It was her first weekend of college, and she wasn’t in her dorm room, trapped by her own thoughts.

“Hey guys! Want BEER?”

Hagar turned towards the source of the enthusiastic shout—a girl perched in the doorway of a nearby apartment building, her white-knuckled grip on the door the only thing keeping her upright. She wore a belly shirt and a headband, her face flushed with excitement.

“We have weed!” she added with a wink, her voice slurred and inviting.

Ned, his face lighting up, grabbed Hagar’s forearm and pulled her towards the apartment. They entered a well-lit space, and Hagar recognized several familiar faces—Army cadets she had met during orientation.

“Khalifa! Guys, it’s the freshman!” someone shouted, their voice booming over the music.

She turned to see Jeff Fisher, one of the older cadets, beckoning her towards a circle of military haircuts.

“Khalifa, remember these guys? Probably not.” He laughed. “Mortimer, Grimes, and Kennedy.” He indicated a girl Hagar vaguely recalled and two other cadets, their faces blurring together in her mind.

“Are all Egyptians good at the PT test or what?” Mortimer asked, her voice laced with a sardonic humor that Hagar couldn’t quite decipher.

Was that a compliment? Hagar wondered. They had all taken the physical fitness test the previous week. She had exceeded her own expectations, her body pushing past its limits in a way that surprised even her.

“No, it’s whatever. I didn’t expect to run well with the altitude,” Hagar admitted, downplaying her accomplishment. 

“Well, fuck, don’t worry about it,” Kennedy said, his tone reassuring. “We needed a powerful female this year. Don’t mind Mortimer; she’s just grumpy because there are hippies in the room.” He elbowed Mortimer, gesturing towards a group passing a joint nearby. Mortimer scowled and stalked off, disappearing into the crowd. 

Ned, his attention now fixated on the weed, angled towards the group, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Hagar trailed behind him, then stopped short. The presence of so many Army personnel gave her pause, a sense of unease settling over her. She settled for a cigarette outside, the familiar ritual grounding her.

Later that night, as she and Ned stumbled back to their dorm, Hagar’s phone rang. She silenced Ned, who had somehow acquired a ukulele and was enthusiastically strumming it, his off-key playing a jarring counterpoint to the quiet night.

“Mols?” Hagar asked, mashing her phone to her ear.

“Hagar!” Mols exclaimed, breathless, her voice thick with distress.

“Hey, what’s going on? Where are you?” Hagar asked, her brow furrowing with concern.

“Oh, fuck. I had a fucking shitty evening.” Mols was breathing heavily, her voice punctuated by sobs.

“What happened?” Hagar asked, motioning for Ned to approach her.

“Fucking cops. We were just sitting there, sharing a joint… I thought we were being pretty quiet, but they just appeared out of nowhere… and the next thing I know, I’m getting a ticket…!” Mols exclaimed, her words tumbling over each other in a rush of panic and indignation.

“Mols, you can’t smoke weed on campus. Not during the first few weeks of school, anyway!” Hagar said, exasperated. During orientation, the sophomores had warned them about the crackdown on marijuana use. Hagar had heeded their advice, restricting her indulgence to off-campus locations. Apparently, Molly had not.

“Oh, well…” Molly trailed off, then gasped. “Hagar…! I think I’m being followed! What the fuck!”

Hagar rolled her eyes and handed the phone to Ned. “Mols, just get yourself home. We have better things to do!”

“Ffffffine. Don’t come get me…!” Molly’s voice was a high-pitched whine.

Click.

Hagar sighed. Only a few weeks into college, and her roommate already had two run-ins with the police.

“Is someone actually following her?” Ned’s tone was thick with sarcasm as he handed Hagar her phone.

“But of course.” Hagar smiled, shaking her head at Molly’s antics. They had finally reached Baker Hall and headed inside, the familiar scent of stale beer and cleaning supplies washing over them.

“By the way, those people seemed like dicks,” Ned commented as he fumbled with his sock hat. “The Army people at that house party. Total dicks.”

“Why? I don’t really know them.” Hagar shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the encounter.

“They just seemed judgmental—” Ned began, then veered off on a tangent. “Do they think it’s strange you’re from Egypt and you’re in the Army?” He leaned on Hagar as they climbed the dormitory stairs, his words slightly slurred.

“Ned, you seem to be the only one hung up on that.” No, he’s not, she thought, but let it slide, too tired to engage in a debate.

“You’re trippy.” Ned reached out to ruffle Hagar’s curly hair, dislodging glitter and beer droplets. They had reached Hagar’s door. As Hagar stopped and turned to unlock it, she watched Ned continue down the hallway, his ukulele playing filling the air, a strange and discordant melody fading into the distance.

She shook her head and smiled, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. What a strange, wonderful, utterly bewildering place she had landed in. 

Now, you will likely get a slightly different output than I did due to the stochastic nature of LLMs. But we got the result we wanted! 🎉

Dialogue Tags 📢 With Multimodality 📑

The party 🥳 is not over yet. I also tried ingesting a document to fix my strange dialogue tags that were in my writing. See below for the final evaluation. To repeat this, see this document that was ingested. I won’t include the tokenization Gemini produces of the document attached as it is quite long, but way under the 2 million token-ish limit.

text1 = """<context>
According to the guidelines included in the file attached, Improve the grammar score in the text below.

Keep the tone, voice, and spirit of the text as much as possible.

Generate the same chapter but with improved grammar.

<context/>

<text>
Party
Boulder, Colorado
 “Just go barefoot,” Ned suggested, his tone nonchalant..
 “What?” she exclaimed, her voice laced with disbelief. “You want me to take my shoes off? Here? In the middle of the street?”
 Ned rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Yes, Hagar. Just take your shoes off and go barefoot. Everyone does it here. It’s Boulder. Relax.” He couldn\'t fathom how someone as seemingly adventurous as Hagar had ended up so apprehensive in this laid-back town. Sighing, Hagar bent down and peeled off her shoes, her bare feet meeting the cool pavement with a slight shiver despite the September heat. There was a slight chill in the air, early hints of fall.
 She thought about her first few weeks in Boulder, assuring herself they were a success. Her friendship with Ned, ignited during orientation, had become a source of comfort. Watching him now, drunkenly waving to a group of college partygoers on the sidewalk, she couldn\'t help but laugh at the memory of their first encounter.

 The campus tour had been incredibly boring, prompting Hagar to seek refuge on a low brick wall outside Baker Hall, her new dorm. While pretending to be engrossed in her Blackberry phone, she was actually playing Snake, desperately waiting for the tour group to move on.
 “Hello.”
 Startled, Hagar looked up to find the source of the voice–a young man with sharp blue eyes sat beside her, his gaze unwavering. Not in the mood for socializing, she instinctively recoiled.
 “Hello,” she replied, her eyes drawn to his deep blue knit sock hat. “You know it’s way too hot outside to be wearing that, right?” She gestured outward, as if addressing the oppressive late August heat (for at the time it was August, the beginning of the school year and prime time for dormitory tours).
 A wide grin spread across the young man’s face. “I like you. Let’s be friends. I’m Ned.” He leaned in for a hug, catching Hagar off guard.
 “Hagar,” she replied, returning the embrace despite her initial hesitation.

 Ned straightened his sock hat, his grin unwavering. “Do you have another one of those?” he asked, gesturing at her cigarette. Hagar pulled out her pack of Marlboro Reds and offered him one. He wrinkled his nose nonetheless.
 “You don’t have anything less… potent? Spirits?” he asked, accepting her lighter with a mischievous glint in his eye.
 “No. These are weak compared to the ones I am used to at home,” she replied, her voice tinged with laughter.
 “Where’s home?” He lit the cigarette, his eyes curious.
 “Egypt.” A flicker of regret coursed through her; the subject had surfaced far too soon, exposing a vulnerability she wasn\'t ready to share.
 “Oh. Like pharaohs and shit?”
 “Yeah. Like that.” Her voice held a hint of weariness, a weariness that spoke of a life left behind, a past she wasn\'t ready to unpack.
 They spent the rest of the day in comfortable silence, trailing their orientation group across the sprawling campus. Hagar discovered that Ned also resided in Baker Hall, their shared dormitory becoming an unexpected anchor in this unfamiliar territory. Whenever the tour paused, they would steal moments to share cigarettes, their silences speaking volumes, forging a bond built on unspoken understanding and a shared sense of displacement.

 Now, several weeks later, stumbling along with her shoes in hand, Hagar found herself pulled down to the sidewalk by a drunken Ned, who plopped onto the ground with a satisfied grunt. She smiled, realizing she had never seen him without his signature knit sock hat. On the rare occasions he removed it to rake his fingers through his hair, she caught glimpses of brown, slightly curly locks, a length that hovered between stylish and messy, much like his personality.
 At this point in Hagar’s journey, we find her surrounded by feathered hair extensions, glitter, thrift shops, bike rides, and local coffee shops, her days spent navigating college life alongside other awkward freshmen. A typical outing might involve searching for vintage treasures at the thrift shop, impromptu ukulele sessions, and of course, smoking weed–a quintessential Boulder experience.
 Students descended upon Boulder, eager to experience winter sports. Some boasted luxury cars; others, top-of-the-line bicycles. Within weeks, even the most self-assured former high school cheerleaders were cultivating dreadlocks, while their shyer counterparts discreetly adorned their hair with tinsel extensions, daring to add feathers on adventurous days. Ned, ever the keen observer, would point these transformations out to Hagar as they people-watched, and Hagar, like a tourist in a foreign land, absorbed every detail, every quirk of this new culture.
 Hagar’s occasional weed use in high school had become a regular habit in Boulder. It offered a sense of calm, a familiar thread connecting her old life in Egypt to her new home in America. However, as the weeks wore on, the realization that her army scholarship could be revoked due to marijuana use tempered her enjoyment with apprehension, casting a shadow over her newfound freedom.
 It’s about control, or rather, my lack of it- I\'m terrified that something will happen while I\'m high, something that will send me straight back to Egypt.
 The fear was always there, a constant reminder of the precarious nature of her situation.
 Her roommate, Molly, was a tall blonde with a lazy eye and a love for the color pink-not a soft, subtle shade, but a loud, almost neon pink that dominated their dorm room. Molly embraced the Boulder aesthetic with gusto, sporting blonde hair extensions, snowboarding attire, and talking about \"shredding\" whenever attractive boys were within earshot. And like many in Boulder, Molly loved her weed. It was medical, she claimed, a necessary remedy for her insomnia and chronic back pain.
 “Hagar!” Ned’s voice, laced with laughter, sliced through her thoughts. “What did you think?” he repeated, louder than necessary.
 “It was… interesting.” She injected apathy into her tone. “Where’s Molly?” she asked, a flicker of concern tugging at her.
 “Who knows? Last I saw, she ran off with some dude.” Ned shook his head. “No controlling that chick when she’s had a few,” he said, his words slightly slurred.
 “Shouldn’t we try to find her?” Concern colored her voice, but Ned seemed unfazed.
 “Nah.” He avoided her gaze.
 “So, Hagar.” He shifted again, eager to change the subject. “How did you end up in Boulder? You seem… out of place here.” He slurred, his words jumbled.
 Hagar paused, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. “Well, it was my second choice.” She immediately worried that she sounded conceited.
 “Second?” Ned scoffed, as if the mere concept of Boulder being relegated to second place was unfathomable. “Psh. Where was your first choice, then?”
 “West Point,” Hagar admitted, bracing herself for the inevitable reaction.
 “Like… the military place?” Ned’s eyes widened in surprise.
 “Yes.”
 This reaction she had learned to expect. It was a familiar script. Wait, the military academy? You mean the United States Military Academy? How does that even work? Are you American? Can non-Americans even go there? Why the military? That’s such a strange choice. Did you get in? I hear it’s incredibly difficult. Why didn\'t you go?

 “It’s complicated.” She sighed, her voice heavy with unspoken explanations.
 “So that’s why you’re in that army program here, right?” Ned’s voice held a hint of disapproval, a subtle judgment that stung more than outright condemnation.
 “Yes. ROTC. They’re paying for school. It was the only way for me to come to America,” she explained, her words laced with a defensiveness she desperately wished she could shed.
 Ned nodded, processing the information. Then, with the fickleness of the inebriated, his attention darted elsewhere. “Can you get a DUI if you ride a bike intoxicated?” he asked, already stumbling towards a bicycle.
 “I think so. I know you can get one for driving a golf cart.” Hagar hurried after him, her bare feet slapping against the pavement.
 This wasn’t the first time she had felt ashamed about being in the Army program. Initially, she assumed it would be met with respect. However, she realized that the general sentiment at the University of Colorado was far from enthusiastic. Each conversation about her military involvement chipped away at her confidence, making her question her choices. The memory of her West Point interview flashed through her mind:
 “Hagar Khalifa. Your name clearly originates from somewhere else. What will you do if you are treated differently because of it?”
 “Sir, considering I am applying to West Point, I don’t believe that would be an issue.” Her voice was a memory of youthful, naïve certainty.
 She shook her head, pulling herself back to the present (at the moment, barefoot on the street with her shoes in her hand, standing on the sidewalk). She found herself helping Ned pry the bicycle free from the fence. It was then that she spotted the bike lock.
 “Ned,” she said. “I think this bike might actually belong to someone.”
 Relinquishing the bike, they continued their trek down the street. Hagar, barefoot and irritated, couldn’t help but feel exhilarated. It was her first weekend of college, and she wasn’t in her dorm room, trapped by her own thoughts.
 “Hey guys! Want BEER?”
 Hagar turned towards the source of the enthusiastic shout–a girl perched in the doorway of a nearby apartment building, her white-knuckled grip on the door the only thing keeping her upright. She wore a belly shirt and a headband, her face flushed with excitement.
 “We have weed!” she added with a wink, her voice slurred and inviting.

 Ned, his face lighting up, grabbed Hagar’s forearm and pulled her towards the apartment. They entered a well-lit space, and Hagar recognized several familiar faces–Army cadets she had met during orientation.
 “Khalifa! Guys, it’s the freshman!” someone shouted, their voice booming over the music.
 She turned to see Jeff Fisher, one of the older cadets, beckoning her towards a circle of military haircuts.
 “Khalifa, remember these guys? Probably not.” He laughed. “Mortimer, Grimes, and Kennedy.” He indicated a girl Hagar vaguely recalled and two other cadets, their faces blurring together in her mind.
 “Are all Egyptians good at the PT test or what?” Mortimer asked, her voice laced with a sardonic humor that Hagar couldn\'t quite decipher.
 Was that a compliment? Hagar wondered. They had all taken the physical fitness test the previous week. She had exceeded her own expectations, her body pushing past its limits in a way that surprised even her.
 “No, it’s whatever. I didn’t expect to run well with the altitude,” Hagar admitted, downplaying her accomplishment.
 “Well, fuck, don’t worry about it,” Kennedy said, his tone reassuring. “We needed a powerful female this year. Don’t mind Mortimer; she’s just grumpy because there are hippies in the room.” He elbowed Mortimer, gesturing towards a group passing a joint nearby. Mortimer scowled and stalked off, disappearing into the crowd.
 Ned, his attention now fixated on the weed, angled towards the group, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Hagar trailed behind him, then stopped short. The presence of so many Army personnel gave her pause, a sense of unease settling over her. She settled for a cigarette outside, the familiar ritual grounding her.
  Later that night, as she and Ned stumbled back to their dorm, Hagar’s phone rang. She silenced Ned, who had somehow acquired a ukulele and was enthusiastically strumming it, his off-key playing a jarring counterpoint to the quiet night.
 “Mols?” Hagar asked, mashing her phone to her ear.
 “Hagar!” Mols exclaimed, breathless, her voice thick with distress.
 “Hey, what’s going on? Where are you?” Hagar asked, her brow furrowing with concern.
 “Oh, fuck. I had a fucking shitty evening.” Mols was breathing heavily, her voice punctuated by sobs.
 “What happened?” Hagar asked, motioning for Ned to approach her.
 “Fucking cops. We were just sitting there, sharing a joint… I thought we were being pretty quiet, but they just appeared out of nowhere… and the next thing I know, I’m getting a ticket…!” Mols exclaimed, her words tumbling over each other in a rush of panic and indignation.
 “Mols, you can’t smoke weed on campus. Not during the first few weeks of school, anyway!” Hagar said, exasperated. During orientation, the sophomores had warned them about the crackdown on marijuana use. Hagar had heeded their advice, restricting her indulgence to off-campus locations. Apparently, Molly had not.
 “Oh, well…” Molly trailed off, then gasped. “Hagar…! I think I’m being followed! What the fuck!”
 Hagar rolled her eyes and handed the phone to Ned. “Mols, just get yourself home. We have better things to do!”
 “Ffffffine. Don’t come get me…!” Molly’s voice was a high-pitched whine.
Click.
 Hagar sighed. Only a few weeks into college, and her roommate already had two run-ins with the police.
 “Is someone actually following her?” Ned’s tone was thick with sarcasm as he handed Hagar her phone.
 “But of course.” Hagar smiled, shaking her head at Molly’s antics. They had finally reached Baker Hall and headed inside, the familiar scent of stale beer and cleaning supplies washing over them.
 “By the way, those people seemed like dicks,” Ned commented as he fumbled with his sock hat. “The Army people at that house party. Total dicks.”
 “Why? I don’t really know them.” Hagar shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the encounter.
 “They just seemed judgmental—” Ned began, then veered off on a tangent. “Do they think it’s strange you’re from Egypt and you’re in the Army?” He leaned on Hagar as they climbed the dormitory stairs, his words slightly slurred.
 “Ned, you seem to be the only one hung up on that.” No, he’s not, she thought, but let it slide, too tired to engage in a debate.
 “You’re trippy.” Ned reached out to ruffle Hagar’s curly hair, dislodging glitter and beer droplets. They had reached Hagar\'s door. As Hagar stopped and turned to unlock it, she watched Ned continue down the hallway, his ukulele playing filling the air, a strange and discordant melody fading into the distance.
 She shook her head and smiled, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. What a strange, wonderful, utterly bewildering place she had landed in.


<text/>"""

generate()

Finally, here was the output using RAG to drag in the PDF from PWA on dialogue tags.

## Party

Boulder, Colorado

“Just go barefoot,” Ned suggested, his tone nonchalant.

“What?” she exclaimed, her voice laced with disbelief. “You want me to take my shoes off? Here? In the middle of the street?”

Ned rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Yes, Hagar. Just take your shoes off and go barefoot. Everyone does it here. It’s Boulder. Relax.” He couldn't fathom how someone as seemingly adventurous as Hagar had ended up so apprehensive in this laid-back town. Sighing, Hagar bent down and peeled off her shoes, her bare feet meeting the cool pavement with a slight shiver despite the September heat. There was a slight chill in the air, early hints of fall.

She thought about her first few weeks in Boulder, assuring herself they were a success. Her friendship with Ned, ignited during orientation, had become a source of comfort. Watching him now, drunkenly waving to a group of college partygoers on the sidewalk, she couldn't help but laugh at the memory of their first encounter.

The campus tour had been incredibly boring, prompting Hagar to seek refuge on a low brick wall outside Baker Hall, her new dorm. While pretending to be engrossed in her Blackberry phone, she was actually playing Snake, desperately waiting for the tour group to move on.

“Hello.”

Startled, Hagar looked up to find the source of the voice–a young man with sharp blue eyes sat beside her, his gaze unwavering. Not in the mood for socializing, she instinctively recoiled.

“Hello,” she replied, her eyes drawn to his deep blue knit sock hat. “You know it’s way too hot outside to be wearing that, right?” She gestured outward, as if addressing the oppressive late August heat (for at the time it was August, the beginning of the school year and prime time for dormitory tours).

A wide grin spread across the young man’s face. “I like you. Let’s be friends. I’m Ned.” He leaned in for a hug, catching Hagar off guard.

“Hagar,” she replied, returning the embrace despite her initial hesitation.

Ned straightened his sock hat, his grin unwavering. “Do you have another one of those?” he asked, gesturing at her cigarette. Hagar pulled out her pack of Marlboro Reds and offered him one. He wrinkled his nose nonetheless.

“You don’t have anything less…potent? Spirits?” he asked, accepting her lighter with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“No. These are weak compared to the ones I am used to at home,” she replied, her voice tinged with laughter.

“Where’s home?” He lit the cigarette, his eyes curious.

“Egypt.” A flicker of regret coursed through her; the subject had surfaced far too soon, exposing a vulnerability she wasn't ready to share.

“Oh. Like pharaohs and shit?”

“Yeah. Like that.” Her voice held a hint of weariness, a weariness that spoke of a life left behind, a past she wasn't ready to unpack.

They spent the rest of the day in comfortable silence, trailing their orientation group across the sprawling campus. Hagar discovered that Ned also resided in Baker Hall, their shared dormitory becoming an unexpected anchor in this unfamiliar territory. Whenever the tour paused, they would steal moments to share cigarettes, their silences speaking volumes, forging a bond built on unspoken understanding and a shared sense of displacement.

Now, several weeks later, stumbling along with her shoes in hand, Hagar found herself pulled down to the sidewalk by a drunken Ned, who plopped onto the ground with a satisfied grunt. She smiled, realizing she had never seen him without his signature knit sock hat. On the rare occasions he removed it to rake his fingers through his hair, she caught glimpses of brown, slightly curly locks, a length that hovered between stylish and messy, much like his personality.

At this point in Hagar’s journey, we find her surrounded by feathered hair extensions, glitter, thrift shops, bike rides, and local coffee shops, her days spent navigating college life alongside other awkward freshmen. A typical outing might involve searching for vintage treasures at the thrift shop, impromptu ukulele sessions, and, of course, smoking weed–a quintessential Boulder experience.

Students descended upon Boulder, eager to experience winter sports. Some boasted luxury cars; others, top-of-the-line bicycles. Within weeks, even the most self-assured former high school cheerleaders were cultivating dreadlocks, while their shyer counterparts discreetly adorned their hair with tinsel extensions, daring to add feathers on adventurous days. Ned, ever the keen observer, would point these transformations out to Hagar as they people-watched, and Hagar, like a tourist in a foreign land, absorbed every detail, every quirk of this new culture.

Hagar’s occasional weed use in high school had become a regular habit in Boulder. It offered a sense of calm, a familiar thread connecting her old life in Egypt to her new home in America. However, as the weeks wore on, the realization that her army scholarship could be revoked due to marijuana use tempered her enjoyment with apprehension, casting a shadow over her newfound freedom.

“It's about control, or rather, my lack of it. I'm terrified that something will happen while I'm high, something that will send me straight back to Egypt.”

The fear was always there, a constant reminder of the precarious nature of her situation.

Her roommate, Molly, was a tall blonde with a lazy eye and a love for the color pink—not a soft, subtle shade, but a loud, almost neon pink that dominated their dorm room. Molly embraced the Boulder aesthetic with gusto, sporting blonde hair extensions, snowboarding attire, and talking about "shredding" whenever attractive boys were within earshot. And like many in Boulder, Molly loved her weed. It was medical, she claimed, a necessary remedy for her insomnia and chronic back pain.

“Hagar!” Ned’s voice, laced with laughter, sliced through her thoughts. “What did you think?” he repeated, louder than necessary.

“It was… interesting.” She injected apathy into her tone. “Where’s Molly?” she asked, a flicker of concern tugging at her.

“Who knows? Last I saw, she ran off with some dude.” Ned shook his head. “No controlling that chick when she’s had a few,” he said, his words slightly slurred.

“Shouldn’t we try to find her?” Concern colored her voice, but Ned seemed unfazed.

“Nah.” He avoided her gaze.

“So, Hagar.” He shifted again, eager to change the subject. “How did you end up in Boulder? You seem… out of place here.” He slurred, his words jumbled.

Hagar paused, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. “Well, it was my second choice.” She immediately worried that she sounded conceited.

“Second?” Ned scoffed, as if the mere concept of Boulder being relegated to second place was unfathomable. “Psh. Where was your first choice, then?”

“West Point,” Hagar admitted, bracing herself for the inevitable reaction.

“Like… the military place?” Ned’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Yes.”

This reaction she had learned to expect. It was a familiar script: 

“Wait, the military academy? You mean the United States Military Academy? How does that even work? Are you American? Can non-Americans even go there? Why the military? That’s such a strange choice. Did you get in? I hear it’s incredibly difficult. Why didn't you go?”

“It’s complicated.” She sighed, her voice heavy with unspoken explanations.

“So that’s why you’re in that army program here, right?” Ned’s voice held a hint of disapproval, a subtle judgment that stung more than outright condemnation.

“Yes. ROTC. They’re paying for school. It was the only way for me to come to America,” she explained, her words laced with a defensiveness she desperately wished she could shed.

Ned nodded, processing the information. Then, with the fickleness of the inebriated, his attention darted elsewhere. “Can you get a DUI if you ride a bike intoxicated?” he asked, already stumbling towards a bicycle.

“I think so. I know you can get one for driving a golf cart.” Hagar hurried after him, her bare feet slapping against the pavement.

This wasn’t the first time she had felt ashamed about being in the Army program. Initially, she assumed it would be met with respect. However, she realized that the general sentiment at the University of Colorado was far from enthusiastic. Each conversation about her military involvement chipped away at her confidence, making her question her choices. The memory of her West Point interview flashed through her mind:

“Hagar Khalifa. Your name clearly originates from somewhere else. What will you do if you are treated differently because of it?”

“Sir, considering I am applying to West Point, I don’t believe that would be an issue.” Her voice was a memory of youthful, naïve certainty.

She shook her head, pulling herself back to the present (at the moment, barefoot on the street with her shoes in her hand, standing on the sidewalk). She found herself helping Ned pry the bicycle free from the fence. It was then that she spotted the bike lock.

“Ned,” she said. “I think this bike might actually belong to someone.”

Relinquishing the bike, they continued their trek down the street. Hagar, barefoot and irritated, couldn’t help but feel exhilarated. It was her first weekend of college, and she wasn’t in her dorm room, trapped by her own thoughts.

“Hey guys! Want BEER?”

Hagar turned towards the source of the enthusiastic shout–a girl perched in the doorway of a nearby apartment building, her white-knuckled grip on the door the only thing keeping her upright. She wore a belly shirt and a headband, her face flushed with excitement.

“We have weed!” she added with a wink, her voice slurred and inviting.

Ned, his face lighting up, grabbed Hagar’s forearm and pulled her towards the apartment. They entered a well-lit space, and Hagar recognized several familiar faces–Army cadets she had met during orientation.

“Khalifa! Guys, it’s the freshman!” someone shouted, their voice booming over the music.

She turned to see Jeff Fisher, one of the older cadets, beckoning her towards a circle of military haircuts.

“Khalifa, remember these guys? Probably not.” He laughed. “Mortimer, Grimes, and Kennedy.” He indicated a girl Hagar vaguely recalled and two other cadets, their faces blurring together in her mind.

“Are all Egyptians good at the PT test or what?” Mortimer asked, her voice laced with a sardonic humor that Hagar couldn't quite decipher.

Was that a compliment? Hagar wondered. They had all taken the physical fitness test the previous week. She had exceeded her own expectations, her body pushing past its limits in a way that surprised even her.

“No, it’s whatever. I didn’t expect to run well with the altitude,” Hagar admitted, downplaying her accomplishment.

“Well, fuck, don’t worry about it,” Kennedy said, his tone reassuring. “We needed a powerful female this year. Don’t mind Mortimer; she’s just grumpy because there are hippies in the room.” He elbowed Mortimer, gesturing towards a group passing a joint nearby. Mortimer scowled and stalked off, disappearing into the crowd.

Ned, his attention now fixated on the weed, angled towards the group, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Hagar trailed behind him, then stopped short. The presence of so many Army personnel gave her pause, a sense of unease settling over her. She settled for a cigarette outside, the familiar ritual grounding her.

Later that night, as she and Ned stumbled back to their dorm, Hagar’s phone rang. She silenced Ned, who had somehow acquired a ukulele and was enthusiastically strumming it, his off-key playing a jarring counterpoint to the quiet night.

“Mols?” Hagar asked, mashing her phone to her ear.

“Hagar!” Mols exclaimed, breathless, her voice thick with distress.

“Hey, what’s going on? Where are you?” Hagar asked, her brow furrowing with concern.

“Oh, fuck. I had a fucking shitty evening.” Mols was breathing heavily, her voice punctuated by sobs.

“What happened?” Hagar asked, motioning for Ned to approach her.

“Fucking cops. We were just sitting there, sharing a joint… I thought we were being pretty quiet, but they just appeared out of nowhere… and the next thing I know, I’m getting a ticket…!” Mols exclaimed, her words tumbling over each other in a rush of panic and indignation.

“Mols, you can’t smoke weed on campus. Not during the first few weeks of school, anyway!” Hagar said, exasperated. During orientation, the sophomores had warned them about the crackdown on marijuana use. Hagar had heeded their advice, restricting her indulgence to off-campus locations. Apparently, Molly had not.

“Oh, well…” Molly trailed off, then gasped. “Hagar…! I think I’m being followed! What the fuck!”

Hagar rolled her eyes and handed the phone to Ned. “Mols, just get yourself home. We have better things to do!”

“Ffffffine. Don’t come get me…!” Molly’s voice was a high-pitched whine.

Click.

Hagar sighed. Only a few weeks into college, and her roommate already had two run-ins with the police.

“Is someone actually following her?” Ned’s tone was thick with sarcasm as he handed Hagar her phone.

“But of course.” Hagar smiled, shaking her head at Molly’s antics. They had finally reached Baker Hall and headed inside, the familiar scent of stale beer and cleaning supplies washing over them.

“By the way, those people seemed like dicks,” Ned commented as he fumbled with his sock hat. “The Army people at that house party. Total dicks.”

“Why? I don’t really know them.” Hagar shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the encounter.

“They just seemed judgmental—” Ned began, then veered off on a tangent. “Do they think it’s strange you’re from Egypt and you’re in the Army?” He leaned on Hagar as they climbed the dormitory stairs, his words slightly slurred.

“Ned, you seem to be the only one hung up on that.” No, he’s not, she thought, but let it slide, too tired to engage in a debate.

“You’re trippy.” Ned reached out to ruffle Hagar’s curly hair, dislodging glitter and beer droplets. They had reached Hagar's door. As Hagar stopped and turned to unlock it, she watched Ned continue down the hallway, his ukulele playing filling the air, a strange and discordant melody fading into the distance.

She shook her head and smiled, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. What a strange, wonderful, utterly bewildering place she had landed in. 

Now we get to evaluate 🍀 against PWA. It looks like the unusual dialogue tags went away by incorporating the blog post as part of the input to the prompt 🌟 :