Page 209

By Jack Joseph Smith

Animal had returned from an early morning run by the sea as Montreal was walking away from Jiven's. The light was coming out over the city, and bending shadows from buildings across the last streets before the ocean. Animal had gone to him asking where Montreal was headed. Now they strolled along Lincoln Bulvd. walking south. Montreal was headed on, through the sea- towns of Southern California. Venice, around the Marina; down through the smiling violence of Man- hattan Beach, Rodondo and the Carnival feeling all the way to Orange County, where the plastic state of mind withers life into excepting fresh bills off the press as a middle aged face. "Where are you headed," asked Animal. "Mexico for now;" Montreal replied showing his teeth with a smile, and then looking down. Lincoln Bulvd. was a long polished junkyard. The shack businesses were the exerior paint of orange, yellow, blue, with attempts at gold. A pale face opening an occasional cafe' peered a slightly sideway glance. He would have thick black hair spreading back off a low forehead. His eyes would be squinted, and his women wouldn't be up yet. The Yesterday's paper turned to trash crossed the street sailing in its thin oblivion

Original Scan

AI Interpretation

GPT

The next morning breaks the ritual apart into travel again, as Animal walks with Montreal and the California coast reappears as a corridor of painted junk, migration, and soft commercial violence.

The scene does not close with insight so much as motion. Montreal heads toward Mexico, Animal keeps drifting southward through the beach towns, and the landscape itself resumes its role as both setting and diagnosis.

Claude

Morning dissolves the ritual back into motion: Animal, returned 'from an early morning run by the sea,' falls in beside Montreal walking south on 'Lincoln Bulvd.' as light bends 'shadows from buildings across the last streets before the ocean.' Montreal is bound through 'the sea-towns of Southern California' - 'the smiling violence of Manhattan Beach, Rodondo and the Carnival feeling' down to Orange County, 'where the plastic state of mind withers life into excepting fresh bills off the press as a middle aged face' - and answers 'Mexico for now' with a smile, then looks down. The boulevard is 'a long polished junkyard' of 'shack businesses' painted 'orange, yellow, blue, with attempts at gold,' a 'pale face' cafe owner squinting out over 'Yesterday's paper turned to trash.' The landscape resumes its double duty as setting and diagnosis. This reading remains provisional because the heavily handwritten opening rewrite is unresolved and only its legible portions were transcribed.