I can feel Two-bit's black handled switchblade in my back pocket. I'm running, and the sirens are still so far away—but they're killing my head. Or maybe it's me, thinking about those kids. Those stupid, stupid kids—they didn't listen to me, Godammit! Why did they have to be so reckless? I mean, a little reckless is okay—you gotta be if you're a grease—but not that much. Why were they trying to be so damn heroic? I don't get it—what was wrong with them? Any sane guy won't just run into a burning building to save some stupid kids! Pony was right; I'd do the same thing—for our kind, the grease, 'cause anyone else'd just grow up to be a bunch of no-good Socs in the big city.
And damn myself, too. If I hadn't told them what to do and where to go and how to…shoot! Johnny'd be in jail. But he'd be alive. And I don't care that Pony and Soda would be in a boys' home, it's not like they wouldn't all find each other again anyway. Johnny's mom had some nerve trying to see him at the hospital—like she would've done anything but nag him for being a bad son! This city is a hellhole. This whole world is screwed. I want to get away from all the crap that's happened around here—I don't care, I just don't care anymore. Oh, finally. The fuzz is here…hey, go figure. So's the gang, and Pony. But that doesn't matter. He's dead, and I'm as good as. Now…where did I put that heater?
The fuzz don't know it's not full of ammo the size of Texas. I'll be gone outta here before the boys can get to me. At least Johnnycake didn't have to die like me. Lucky kid.