He is sitting in the living room in his boxers, breaking up some weed on a garage-sale china plate, watching Mighty-Mouse when Tim comes back through the door. The Curtis' house was always unlocked, but Tim pulls it open so forcibly you would have thought it was jammed and had the dead bolt put on.
"Where's-my-fucking-lighter,-Two-Bit?" Tim growls in one quick breath, his unlit cigarette falling out of his mouth as he says it, rolling down his spaghetti-stained wifebeater.
Two-Bit eyes this aging gangster, Tim with his cracked skin stretched over taut veins and grayish sand-bags under his eyes. Two-Bit's glance flickers to the side of the couch, where Tim had dropped his $1.39 blue-and-black flames lighter an hour earlier.
"I dunno, man. Hey, you wanna watch Mighty Mouse with me? I'll share my Ovaltine with ya, pal."
Tim clenches his cracked knuckles into a fist, flexes them back out, and knocks the china plate off of the particle-board coffee table. Little granulations of marijuana sift through the air and fall onto the gristly carpet. Two-Bit kid bellows, jumping up from the couch, and pushes Tim's face down into the table.
"I don't know where your lighter is, man, and this ain't my house, it ain't your house, so you need to calm down before you wake up everybody in the house."
"I just bought it from the DX," Tim mumbles, the side of his lips pressing against the sticky mug rings on the table. His fingers feel for his a knife in his pocket.
A few seconds later and Tim leaves, and the kid is flopped in the floor, leaning against the couch, and Darry finds Two-Bit lighting a joint with a black-and-blue flames bic, as his side bleeds onto the gristly carpet into a pool of blood that slightly resembles Mighty Mouse.