It was the biggest party of summer 65. Dally was drunk as hell, and he couldn't drive in this state; he didn't even know up from down. He knew none of the Greasers numbers but Johnny's -but he ain't gonna wake him up. He needs his sleep- and yours. He hastily and drunkly pushes in the buttons on the touch-tone phone. He takes a swig of his beer. When you answer he explains how he needs you to pick him up, but it was hard to understand with his slurring and the noise of the party in the background.

You groggily go to pick him up. You pull up to the front of the bar/party where he was. He notices you and stumbles into the car.

Dallas: "Heya, sugarcube..."

He laughs and rests his head on the dashboard. He smelled like beer and his brown hair was messed up, he looked even more greasy then usual, too. He sits back up and looks at your tired face.

Dallas: "Thanks for gettin' me... I appreciate it darlin'."

He turns on the night radio and blasts music as you two drive back to your place. It was one in the morning. You two were probably going to get beat up by Darry in the morning for playing all this music…