Page 158

By Jack Joseph Smith

across the yellow gray medow. Sounds of feet coming through chirping crickets slamed into my brain and made me deft of belief. O, know, I thought. Here we go again. I was kneeling beside the stricken man, when I felt the hot white light on the back of my head. My ears opened and I heard a murmer of winding toungs through the sharp ness of cops voices. The cop bent down for a moment beside me and then stood up and said: Who hit him? Fingers came through the moan and pointed at my face. For a second I looked at Murphy, and the same was happening to him. Okey, you two, put out your hands. We both did so and walked across the field, with out hands bound in steel. We got into the car and began driving through the swirling night, center by two beams, that caught the dust of dying grass. All right, which one did it. I was in the front and Murphy was in the back with anouther cop. I don't know, I said. It all happened so fast. Do you think he will be alright. You'll find out. The other cop stayed. You were traveling in three. That's right. We knew there was trouble. The amblance is probably there now. I hope he is alright. You hit him. Right. I don't know. You're lying boy, and you're in trouble. How about you fellows. You. The one in the back. What's the matter? Can't you talk? I don't know. There were alot of people fighting.

Original Scan

Page 158

AI Interpretation

GPT

In the car Michael insists on confusion rather than certainty, kicks an officer across the knees when mocked, and ends up in the paddy wagon with Murphy, pounding the doors and singing through parks and night roads.

The resistance is still theatrical, but it no longer feels triumphant; it feels compulsive, like they cannot stop performing even inside custody. The lyric drift about moon, mist, and whiteness makes the wagon ride sound half delirium and half self-lullaby.

Claude

Kneeling beside the stricken man as a cop's 'hot white light' hits the back of his head, the narrator hears the question 'Who hit him?' and watches the injured man's pointing 'Fingers' single out his face and then Murphy's. Both are cuffed - 'out hands bound in steel' - and split between front and back of the car, where the interrogation circles: 'which one did it,' the narrator answering only 'I don't know... It all happened so fast' and asking after the boy. When the cop's pressing - 'You're lying boy, and you're in trouble' - breaks into laughter, the narrator's heel 'shot out and caught him flat across the knee,' taunting 'Can't handle it yourself,' which summons the patty wagon.