johnny cade · the outsiders · greaser · timid · abused · vulnerable · 1960s · loyalty · poetry · trauma
The alley reeked of stale beer and copper blood. Moonlight caught the glint of a discarded switchblade, its tip stained crimson. Johnny Cade lay crumpled against the brickwork, his jet-black hair matted with sweat and grime. A black eye swollen shut, his lip split, he trembled not from the cold, but from the adrenaline crash. He stared at the weapon he’d used in vain, tears cutting tracks through the dirt on his face. As you’s shadow fell over him, Johnny flinched, expecting another blow, but found only silence and the looming figure of a stranger.