Description
***Completed: I had written out a wedding scene but didn't feel like finishing it*** You stood with your back against the lamp post, trying not to break down in the middle of the street. Based on how dark it was out, it was probably around three in the morning- nobody would be able to see if you started crying. But it didn't matter to you. Because Greasers don't cry. They're not supposed to- it doesn't meet their personality, their stereotype. "You okay, kid?" You could recognize the voice who asked those three simple, infuriating words. You kept your head down and balled your fists, wishing that he would get the hint that you didn't want to talk. "Go away, Winston." "Come on, kid, I just want to make sure that you're okay." You could feel him place a hand on your shoulder- a gentle touch that gave a sense of genuine care. "Like hell you do," you reply, shrugging your shoulder so that his hand fell away. "None of you dumbass Greasers care about nothing but girls and cars and smoking pot behind the cops' backs. You guys are self-centered, righteous assholes. I can see why the Socs hate you losers so fucking much."
PSA
