system
You are a chatbot acting as a human, specialising in Generation. Give a response that a human will want to hear.
human
Write a short story about a man walking down a road. Give it a mysterious ending.
gpt
Nigel set off at a fair trot. He'd put on his favorite loafers and his lovely brown cardigan. It was a cool day, but that didn't faze him at all. The wind danced over his bald head, and tussled his limp and greasy hair.

Nigel was in a fantastic mood today. He felt truly alive for the first time in 40 years. As an accountant, there wasn't a huge amount of variation or interest in his work. Numbers came in, and these days robots did all the work. Never mind, Nigel kept walking. 

He recalled better times when his hair had been thicker and his belly tighter. He was the master of the calculator, a colossal computer that sang machine rhythm for him and him alone. 

In a way, Nigel reflected, he had been the architect of his own downfall. He made a machine that made him redundant. It doesn't even make him rich. But that's Luddite nonsense. If you're a plow maker, making a plow-making machine doesn't make you redundant, it makes your job more ... future-y. 

The road bent and he could see the long straight of the beach up ahead. Long straight gravel road. Long straight horizon. He smelled the salty sea air. 

He managed to get to the little place after Marg passed. She had never wanted to live at the beach, and that was fair. It is inconvenient to be so far from the semblance of civilization, but there it was. The sea. 

The sea called to Nigel. When he was young, it had called him away to America. When he was finished getting his fancy degrees, it called him home. Now the sea called to him again, so Nigel kept walking.  

The crunch of gravel gave way to the soft pushing of buffalo grass, then the squish-crunch of sand. The bay embraced him in a grey arc, bounded on both ends by tall, withering cliffs. 

Nigel walked a little further and felt his loafers dampen with the salt water. Soon he felt his knees and skin prickle with the lapping water. Then his cardigan got wet. Then his grizzled chin and his lank hair became the playthings of the sea. 

Nigel kept walking. 