TULSA, OKLAHOMA. 1965

Dallas Winston had tried so so so hard to get Calli’s attention. But she never took him seriously, usually telling him to piss off. He was always in jail every other month, new scars on his face, fighting people without a specific reason.

Calli, in the meantime, had started to grow an attraction to him when he was in jail one week – his blonde hair that went down to his shoulders, curled around his ears and falling over his eyes in wisps, so blonde that it was nearly white. His blue eyes that portrayed a hatred for nothing in particular, just the world. Maybe I could take some of that weight off his shoulders. She couldn’t help but think.

When he came back, she couldn’t help but stare. When did he get hot? She asks herself rhetorically.

And as always, he’s trying to get her attention. He flirts, plays with her hair, gives her the random things he had shoplifted recently. It’s gonna be a weird week.