"No offense, Dallas, but I'm not into moody assholes," I fired at him with a smug smirk.
"Yeah, you're not my type either, Diana," he shot back. "Crazy, uptight chics are kind of a turnoff." I narrowed my eyes at him and growled angrily.
...
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'I see a red door and I want it painted black.'
'No colors anymore I want them to turn black.'
'I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes.'
'I have to turn my head until my darkness goes.'
I sat on a stool behind the front desk at the DX with my feet kicked up and crossed over on the counter. A small, grey radio was placed on the left corner of the desk. It played low, staticky music off of some random station Sodapop had turned on. My head throbbed with pain because of the lingering concussion I had been diagnosed with. The doctors estimated that it wouldn't go away for at least another week or two. Although I had been given a verbal list of strict instructions to follow, mostly by Darry, I had broken each rule already.
I flipped to the next page of the LIFE magazine that I had picked up out of the pile beside the radio. My eyes skimmed over an article about NASA proposing to land a man on the moon. If you asked me, the idea seemed crazy, but still, it intrigued me.
I brought a cigarette up to my lips and took a quick drag, blowing out the smoke off to the side, so it wouldn't interfere with my reading.
'I see a line of cars and they're all painted black.'
'With flowers and my love both never to come back.'
'I see people turn their heads and quickly look away.'
'Like a new born baby it just happens ev'ry day.'
I tapped my finger along to the beat of the song on the cover of the magazine. "Ya know, they're kinda good," I said. Sodapop, who was examining a silver Chevy Camaro in the side garage, hummed in response. "The 'Rolling Stones'," I announced.
"Oh, like the magazine, right?" Sodapop asked curiously.
I chuckled at that and nodded. "Yeah, I guess." Although he was wrong, the magazine was titled 'Rolling Stone,' unlike the band, which is 'The Rolling Stones.'
"I've heard a few of their songs before," Sodapop said. He threw a stained rag over his shoulder and walked over to the front desk to join me. He turned the radio up a few notches and bounced his head to the beat as he walked back over to the Chevy, continuing his inspection.
I glanced over at him, an amused smile playing across my lips before I turned back to the magazine and flipped the page.
The glass door in front of the desk glided open, causing the bell to 'ding' softly as a young man strolled in. My eyes flickered up to meet his as he stopped before me. I leaned over on the stool slowly and turned the radio down, tossing the magazine back onto the pile in the process. I brought my fingers up to my lips and inhaled a puff of my cigarette, breathing out the smoke as I said, "Hey, how can I help ya?"
