Pony nodded, he knew Darry was worried; but wasn't going to keep him cooped up all the time over this, however he would be very cautious for a few days. As Pony left he walked around Dally, nor did he interrupt the tow headed teen, who was taking swings at an imaginary opponent. He was hot, and obviously getting angrier by the minute. Unlike the other guys, Pony noted, Dally got angrier the more he thought about Johnny…but with the other guys the more time went by the less pissed they were. Maybe he and Dally were more alike than he had previously thought, Dally was passionate; at least about hating.

Ponyboy jogged off the porch and down the road. Running kept his mind of the unfairness of society, though when he was running he was able to think without any outside intrusions. As he rounded the corner of the adjacent block he heard something and stopped.

"Howdy Ponyboy."

Pony turned and was faced with a rugged looking, blue-eyed juvenile delinquent he knew named Curly. "Hey Curly."

Curly nodded leaning on the light pole taking along drag off his weed, "How ya been, I ain't see you around since I've got outta the cooler."

"I'm okay," Pony responded hesitantly, "When'd you get out?"

"Two weeks ago," Curly grinned tossing away his current smoke and pulling out another and lighting it right away. However, etiquette caught this troubled youth; he pointed the pack at Pony offering him one as well. Pony took a cigarette from the pack and proceeded to bum a light from Curly. "Curtis you always look a little more like your brothers."

Pony snorted, though thoroughly enjoying his first puff of the cancer stick. He decided against telling Curly that he was a carbon copy of his older brother Tim; he didn't know how Curly would take it half because he didn't know how to take being told he was his brothers' shadow.

"Shit," Curly grinned again, "but nobody's as tough as Darry. Damn that guy can take anything, I bet."

"Shut your trap," Pony said, "I am as tough as him, he's just strong…that's all."

Curly didn't take offense, but he smiled lopsidedly, "Common, play chicken with me then."

"What?" Pony asked.

Curly took his cigarette from his mouth and pointed it at Pony, "Common."

Pony nodded, he'd show Curly he was just as tough as Darry. The two boys simultaneously touch the embers of their cigarettes to the other's finger. Before Ponyboy knew it the tip of his finger was burning so much he could feel the fire shoot up his hand through his arm and into his body. And the smell of melting flesh was making them both nauseous.

Tim flipped up the collar on his leather jacket and jogged out into the still dark night. He breathed in the smell of clean air and grinned, happy to be away from the smoky rooms at Buck Merril's. His spirits were up, he felt slightly giddy and he hadn't even started really drinking yet. He just needed a bit of a walk to cool down…

He rounded a corner and plopped down on a sidewalk bench. The night air didn't smell so good here, he thought to himself, wrinkling his nose. A little like burning, like when Angela's curling iron set her hair aflame. He scanned the area, looking for fire but all he saw were two figures in the shadows, crouched down around their cigarettes. He squinted at them (damn they looked familiar) but his eyes yielded nothing. He shrugged and reached into his jacket pocket for his own weed. He inhaled the tobacco scent with relish. He always enjoyed a smoke after a good-

"Fuck!"

Tim jumped and looked sharply over to the two figures. Slowly, he stood up, cigarette fixed in his mouth, ready to investigate. He walked closer, closer, and their faces began to take shape.

"Curly? What the…and ain't that Ponyboy? What the hell you boys doin'?"

Curly's face was contorted in an expression of agony. Ponyboy was wearing an almost identical expression, the fingers on his free hand clenching and unclenching rapidly. He looked up at Tim guiltily, but Curly didn't even glance at his brother.

"Playin'…chicken…uhhhhfuuuuuuhhhhck," Curly managed through clenched teeth.

In one swift move Tim knocked both cigarette's from the boys' hands.
"Goddamn it Curly!" he swore. "These are cigarettes! You're wasting good money in tobacco. Burnin' holes in yourselves…fuck, it ain't good for you. Ya dickheads, if you can't smoke a cigarette responsibly, you won't smoke 'em at all, ya hear?!" Grabbing his Curly, Tim felt his younger brother's pockets and quickly came up with the pack.

"Here." He jammed a cigarette in Curly's mouth, then whirled around and stuck one in Ponyboy's just for the hell of it. "You light 'em, and you smoke. None of this burning you're fingers off shit. You treat these like they're 'sposed to be treated!"

A sudden shout of laughter brought Tim around. Dally loped up to him, shaking his head.
"Well if it ain't Saint Timothy off to preach to the young'uns 'bout the sins of cigarette misuse. Learn much today from the good Reverend kids?"

"Shut it," Tim growled, shoving Dally. Hard.

Dally ignored Tim, the grin still plastered on his face. "Man, Tim. I'd never thought of you as the poster boy for responsibility, but after that, I'm starting to rethink-"

"I said SHUT IT, or this cigarette is going up your-"

"Hey, ASSHOLE. Hey greaser, we're talking to you."
Tim, Dally, Ponyboy and Curly all turned to look as a small group of obviously drunken Socs staggered up to them. A blond one wearing expensive tan slacks, a madras jacket and his dinner on his shirt poked a finger at Dally's chest.

"That's the one who jumped me the other day," he said loudly over his shoulder. He gave Dally a toothy grin. "Remember me?"