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By Jack Joseph Smith

75 Yhepter V Four years now I have been at Saint Bernards, and what have I seen? What do i I know? Iam twelve years old? Who kmows when I walk so very quickly turning around to see myself putting my shoe over a crack im the sidewalk and then putting my other foot over another crack, I am consistant in my movementas I let‘ nothing go by I do not touche Sometimes I am afraid to go homes.because i I know the cops will be waiting, What a surrealistic sight they made so many times“on such a fairy tale street, .I have stolen a bit of lumber from the puilderss Enough to build a town, they say. And when they find my shacks they | tear them downj' No matter, I'11 steal more, and avenge myself for Mister Metzess and not only steal! next time; putVreck their houses as well, I have been watching my fire-now foe Pive-years in the spring, It burnis orange: and the smoke goes into the clouds and mingles a dark death kind of texture ynder the yellow blue light of the-syn we children of the world have-colored on our papers you step mm in the stree%;'.in the beginning the fire crackles im a broken sound and then spreads across the gragsand wheat forming a oyrele in its dancing rhythm 1+ grawsand grows and soon belongs to the skye I rn away and hide and then sndeic en eskate back up my street, There you are in your firetrucks protecting realdstate signs and the new“houses that I am telling you are an imposition on my freedom, They - drove: Mister wetzes-away and they are-nothing but a stupid blemish hanging by their lives-beneath my toffrch, The neighbors stand around and talk about who ever in the world would do such a thing year after yeare How exciting it is , i to see you ynder my alters !. What do I know? I Imow Danith is the only one who knows: Kennedy forest as weil as Ig We could hide out there for years. But the houses keep coming closer to the top of the hill, Soon the bastards will rn their buldosers over the apple ~ Dar Ooys

Original Scan

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AI Interpretation

GPT

At twelve and four years into Saint Bernard's, the child measures himself by cracks in sidewalks, stolen lumber, hidden shacks, spring field fires, police attention, and a furious need to avenge Mister Metzes against the new houses creeping toward Kennedy forest.

Childhood fantasy has hardened here into sabotage, territorial rage, and a much more deliberate outlaw self-image. Fire is no longer just beautiful or ritual but political, aimed at real estate, builders, and the suburban spread that keeps violating his remembered ground.

Claude

Chapter V jumps to age twelve, four years into Saint Bernard's, stepping carefully over sidewalk cracks and admitting he has stolen lumber enough to build a town and watched his spring fire for five years — the ritual Metzes-tribute burn is named.