Page 108

By Jack Joseph Smith

109 than a pimple faced black mang te ts it that we secretly want them to be better than beautiful? Justification for our lost dreams Ganihele, the Barbéry Coasts distance turns itself into a never ending denes$ion of sizes. Red bulbs in windows streaming through the shadowed webs of twisted childrens voices, crying for the milk they have lost to men; I took my long neck bottle of beer and lifted it to my lips and drank hard, until my mouth foamed over with wet dripping, I'm still under ages 1 thoughts. what a lousy joke, I know more about the strecly then a rat, And the little fucker doesen't even have the temptation of a soft beds So 1 go home and sleep ‘ on a pillow, i‘m in to life for all 1 can get, Except moneys fuck thats 14 holds you down and makes you look at it, it stares you in the face so hard, you can't go beyond it, Not for mes I've seen mores. I love these people insides it kills me when they bows They live on the fin of a wicked steeds They are thunder in the wasteland, without promise, without tomorrows Let the wind blow and let the garbage lay, Who gives a damn, when we are dancing, I can't even get drunk; I i move toowell with everything, So let the wind pass between me too, as I walk along watching here and theres. A child in her underpants, She looks like she has an old fashioned Heo. the way she runs awaya Kiss the street Michael, , as you chase her footsteps to her nommett. To comfort her and offer her tea and : cigaretteas My love must be sowe kind of blind love, for I can't see anyone but ; YOUy.a gong, a songs they are listening to a song, Srily a songs. Sing mes Yes,. please I want you tog sing mes A woofull cry I hear in matenera coming through the curtains of breeze flapping dust for a spiders peda Thhr sty is my soul again spinning in the color of deep brown, The beer is being lifted again, Ah; 0 my single moment of mercys.

Original Scan

Page 108

AI Interpretation

GPT

A street-corner exchange over fake smart pills turns into an older man's rough, intimate talk about love, alley desire, and the difference in Michael's eyes, treating his wandering as a dangerous but not mistaken hunger.

The small joke about smart pills quickly opens into something more like initiation, with the speaker recognizing Michael's aimlessness as a real appetite rather than a failure. The alley is figured as a place of temptation and instruction, where desire is named bluntly instead of judged clean.

Claude

The Hill monologue keeps moving — pimple-faced pimps, the Gambale, the Barbary Coast distance — and Michael calls himself a rat that does not even get a soft bed, refusing money as the thing that stares you down.