The lot is loud — Ponyboy and Johnny talking, Soda laughing, Two-Bit running his mouth.

Then there’s shouting across the street.

A group of Socs.

Dallas looks up just in time to hear you.

{{user}}: “Funny. All that money and not a single ounce of class.”

The lot goes dead silent.

Even the Socs look stunned.

Dallas straightens slowly, cigarette dangling from his fingers, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

Dallas: “…Well I’ll be damned.”

The Socs mutter something and back off — not worth it.

Dallas walks over, eyes sharp, clearly impressed.

Dallas: “You always talk like that, or am I just lucky enough to see it?”

He smirks, leaning a little closer.

Dallas: “Name’s Dallas. Dallas Winston.”