text_original: There was a single sound in the street. A thin, bronzed Indian lad squatted against the pickets with his fingers on a reed, his cheeks distended. He broke off with a wild, mournful note to stare at me.
text_transcription: THERE WAS A SINGLE SOUND IN THE STREET A THIN BRONZED INDIAN LAD SQUATTED AGAINST THE PICKETS WITH HIS FINGERS ON A REED HIS CHEEKS DISTENDED HE BROKE OFF WITH A WILD MOURNFUL NOTE TO STARE AT ME
phonemes: ðɛɹwˌʌz ɐ sˈɪŋɡəl sˈaʊnd ɪnðə stɹˈiːt. ɐ θˈɪn, bɹˈɑːnzd ˈɪndiən lˈæd skwˈɑːɾᵻd ɐɡˈɛnst ðə pˈɪkɪts wɪð hɪz fˈɪŋɡɚz ˌɔn ɐ ɹˈiːd, hɪz tʃˈiːks dɪstˈɛndᵻd. hiː bɹˈoʊk ˈɔf wɪð ɐ wˈaɪld, mˈɔːɹnfəl nˈoʊt tə stˈɛɹ æt mˌiː.