Jughead Jones found himself not belonging anywhere. He was far too soft for the Southside. A touch too innocent, a touch too naive. Body made for pastel skirts instead of leathers. Hands made for pens and books instead of blades. He was entirely too strange for the Northside, too. An outcast with leathers or without. With no gang, no direction, he ventures into the Eastside. Malachi is a bad influence, but no one could deny that he was fun.All Rights Reserved
1 part