Handwaving first draft (draught?)

While writing this first draft of a novel I discovered Auto-Summarize in Word. It's a bit clunky, to be honest, but another fun toy like cut-ups, word clouds, etc. These are the 500 words it chose, when asked:

Frank pulled the door shut behind him, for the last time. Another TAZ gallery closed.

People strolled by, and glanced into his room, but kept going. Frank sighed.

“Feel free,” said Frank.

The women fluttered a little, then looked around the room again.

“Sure,” said Frank.

Frank nodded.

The room had begun to become an attraction. For some reason, many people seemed to enjoy his room more than reverently wandering around other rooms in the gallery, discussing the works in hushed tones.

With his folio of material, and his guest book, Frank had little trouble getting another white room in a gallery. “OK, Frank, see you later.” The other two people seemed younger than George. Most of the public rooms are more like a museum, art gallery sort of thing. “Do you mind if I take photos?”

“Sebastian,” he said.

“Not so much a drawing room, as a withdrawing room,” he said.

Frank left the building.

The older man laughed.

Frank paid attention again.

“Frank is bringing to life a room with a future as just one room in an art gallery. “Air.”
“Art?”

Sebastian being oblique.

“George’s three initiations.”

said Mo, turning to Frank. “If we can find the right room,” added Sebastian.

George’s little soirees seemed catalytic for many people. Frank stood next to Sebastian for a while.

Sorry if that sounds superstitious.”

Tina and Izzy had arrived back, having chosen their rooms.

“Wow, again,” said Frank.

Frank had kept his London flat. Sculpture has presence in a room.

Just the thought of art. A room where I can remember other galleries, other rooms. The world already has enough rooms. We can’t all visit all the rooms.

“Never heard of him,” said Frank.

Sebastian smiled. Owl looked sideways at Frank. There were times when Frank sat in his room wishing he had some input. “Meh,” said Sebastian, “it’s just art and money, dancing.”

The L-Shaped Room.

Your room gave him freedom for a moment, from playing the old man.

The art of chess, the art of war.

So you pretend to make art, or you make pretend art?” Frank smiled at the boyish glee. “The art of Buster Keaton?”

“Hey, real art!”

“Yes, I always enjoy it when people play in my room, and make the art for the next visitor.”

Just gimme a white room.”

I’d love a white room with a passive artist in it. Up-time. “Why is it not art?”

Frank just sat.

The Marquis came into the room. “Is Frank here?”

There were times when Frank sat in his room wishing he had some input. The screen effectively divided the room. George smiled.

“Great!”

Frank was astounded and appalled. “George!” “To politics, art and money!” “Okaaay,” said Frank, cautiously. Izzy looked at Frank, puzzled.

“Relax, Frank,” said George, which didn’t help a bit.

“Relax, Frank!” “Frank,” said George. Apart from frivolous art investments.”