Page 154

By Jack Joseph Smith

Where is Murphy? He's fucking or something, over the fucking hill, said Wedell Sabastian. A good Irish tune will bring him around, said Beaver. Just then Murphy came out of the bushes dragging a sweet little thing by her feeble hands. Who are all those ass holes? Why Murf, they're the Notre-Dame boys, replied Dandy. Anyone with any brains knows, that any good Irishmen dosen't go to school. Murf, I resent that, said Beaver. Fuck you Beaver. Did you bring those idiots with you. Murf, are you going to cook the stakes? I asked him, with just a bit of laughter in my eyes. Of course I'm cooking the stakes. Dandy says your a lousy cook, and that he is going to do the honnors. What fucking honnor, jagg off? Then you don't care who cooks the stakes? Who gives a shit? Okey, Murf on the stakes. It's written down. Right Beaver. Written down. Written down. Anyway, Murf dosen't mind being from the side of the tracks, that does the cooking. Screw you Beaver. Now your not getting a fucking stake. I was just shitting you Murf. Honest to God. Eah. Blood thick stakes were put on the fire and we were going higher and higher with hunger and song. Dusk was approaching and the flames drew us in a circle around the

Original Scan

Page 154

AI Interpretation

GPT

Murphy comes out of the bushes dragging a girl behind him, gets pulled into the steak dispute, and by dusk the fire, hunger, songs, and tightening circle of bodies give the whole picnic a rough tribal shape.

The roughness matters more than plot here: the page is about men organizing themselves through food, taunts, and possession. Dusk and the fire pull everyone inward, and the social order starts looking less casual and more like a test.

Claude

Murphy emerges 'out of the bushes dragging a sweet little thing by her / feeble hands,' sneers at Beaver's 'Notre-Dame boys' on the grounds that 'any good Irishmen dosen't go to school,' and the steak-cooking dispute is finally settled by Beaver's binding formula - 'Okey, Murf on the stakes. It's written down' - sealed with a class jibe that Murf 'dosen't mind being from the side of the / tracks, that does the cooking.' 'Blood thick stakes' go on the fire and the page lifts into a duskfall lyric: hunger and song carrying everyone 'higher and higher,' the flames drawing them 'in a circle' as the crowd organizes itself by appetite and possession.