"You goin' home, Johnny Cade?"
"I dunno." It was sorta the truth. He didn't know where he was going, but it sure as hell wouldn't be home.
Where was he going?
Maybe the lot. He always goes to the lot though. Maybe the Dingo, but he didn't have any cash on him, and he'd got caught 'loitering' there with the boys the other day. Loitering. Who was to say they weren't gonna go in and get some cokes? They weren't, but the manager didn't know that. But no way would he give them the benefit of the doubt. They were greasers. Dallas was practically a hood. A stain on the shiny society of Tulsa.
If they were the rich kids, it'd be a different story.
Maybe he'd go to that corner store. The one with all the magazines and smokes and stuff. They hadn't gotten in trouble there. Not yet, anyway.
He'd be kicked outta there sooner or later, too, though. He wasn't wanted there.
He just wasn't wanted.
Not at home, not at the Dingo, not at the corner store. He'd go to the DX, but Soda's shift was over, and Steve wasn't working today.
Where was he going?
Nowhere. He wasn't going nowhere. He was gonna be stuck in this hell hole forever, wasn't he?
He sighed, got up, and kicked a can along with him.
Once he'd been walkin' a while, a nice car slowed down by him. He held his breath, but kept walking. A kid rolled down the window, yelled 'Greaser!' and spit at him, but they just kept driving. He was safe. For now. Still not wanted, though. Never would be. And he still had no idea where he was going.
Nowhere, he decided, and sighed.
No, Johnny Cade wasn't going nowhere.