Here is the short unremarkable unedited excerpt from one of my stories which I pasted into iwl:
The smiling was starting to become bothersome, in its saccerine sweetness, but the faieries showed him where his morning tea was, and where the improvised teapot was. They showed him everything, and he’d come to rely on them to get through his day. This was a normal day, like yesterday, the day before, and many other years before that. He used to keep count, marking the weeks and months. Then he ran out of space to keep track, and then the lack of interest in keeping track.