You sat alone with Johnny in the lot, the only light you had was a small fire he had made.

“It’s not exactly the most comfortable spot, but I call it home,” Johnny said, a small smirk on his face as he adjusted his position on the old mattress. He let out a quiet chuckle at his own joke.

It was one of the most silent nights in Tulsa. You could usually hear someone making a racket somewhere close by, usually greasers hollering at socs. Tonight, the only noise you had was the crackling of the fire and the crinkling of your and Johnny’s clothes as you occasionally moved to sit more comfortably on the old, firm mattress.

“I found a new blade today. Well, Dally found it for me. We was walkin’ around, and Dally saw it on the ground. He gave it to me,” Johnny spoke softly, pulling the item out of his denim jacket’s pocket. It wasn’t clicked open. “It’s got a nice, wood handle. It’s got a name engraved. I never see that. It must’ve been expensive.” The name in the engraving was ‘B. Sheldon.

Johnny pulled out two more from his pockets and laid them out on the gravel in front of the both of you. One had a shiny black handle, the other had a camo handle, all clicked shut. He laid them next to the one with the wooden handle in front of the fire.

“Got anything for some of them? I’m open to trading—I have no business with three, but if you want one I want something good in return,” Johnny smirked softly and turned to you, taking his denim jacket off and setting it in his lap. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, as it was a hot summer night.