shakespeare . dallas winston

16; gatsby

"He's a smart one." He trailed around the front counter and leaned against it. "He uses that in the wrong way, however."

I shifted my gaze back to the wrinkling man and gave him a long, hard stare, then nodded. "You're right."

After that Dallas sauntered up to the front counter and scattered various snack items over the surface. "God damn hungry, man. Haven't eaten in hours." He rummaged around in his pocket and flicked a few coins on the desk. Hanson counted them and handed back a couple pennies.

"Are you interested in borrowing a book, Dallas? I don't do it for many, only Holly, but I think I could make an exception." He began to trail around the front counter and to Dallas's side, but Dallas was quick to shake his head with the scrunch of his nose.

"Reading? No, man. I do enough of that in school."

"Oh don't lie, Dallas, you don't read the books we're assigned in school," I butted in. Dallas glowered.

"What's the last book you've read, Dallas?" Hanson continued, raising his chin and squinting. The older man was quite short and only reached my nose. He was about a head smaller than Dal.

"The last book..." Dallas licked his lip as he seemed to muse. "Man, I don't know, The Great Gatsby."

I popped my head up and widened my eyes. "You read The Great Gatsby?"

"A few pages." Dallas flicked his ashes into some tray that was lying around, and I wasn't sure why it was there, cause Hanson hadn't had a cigarette a day in his life. He told me that detail one day at his house as we sipped coffee because I was mad at my brother and my father and had nowhere to go, so he gave me a bed for the night. He told me why he never smoked and said his wife died from lung cancer, and she'd been a smoker since she was just fourteen.

I thought about Johnny and Pony and them, and Dallas, who'd started smoking before they even really knew what smoking was.
Although all the times the older man saw me with the weed between my lips, he never looked with disdain. He scolded me subtly once, but he was never too forceful about anything.

"A few pages ain't reading a book, Dallas." I reached into my pocket and figured I'd light a smoke while Dallas was doing it, so Hanson wouldn't have to smell it longer than he already was. "If you can't tell me the meaning of it, you ain't read it."

"I don't have to read it." Dallas dropped the rest of his weed into the tray. "Because I don't care."

"You should. It's beautiful, poignant. Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive, not after he is dead." I shook my head and gazed off into the frosted window, although I couldn't see anything past it due to the darkness of the night. "I absolutely loathed Daisy. I mean, how ungrateful could a person be?"

"Only you would get mad at a work of fiction." Dallas leaned against the counter with crossed arms.

"She's right," Hanson started. "Books tell more than just a story, young man. I think you should read one once in a while."

"How about you give it a shot, Dal. C'mon, just this once." I stared up at him with hopeful eyes and he seemed to succumb. He shifted on his feet and took a long stride forward, then bounced over to the book section with all the confidence in the world.

"Alright, but make it short. And no promises I'll have it back anytime soon."

"Give 'em The Great Gatsby, H." I looked at the old man. He averted his gaze with tentative eyes.

"He might need something a little easier."

"I'm not deaf, old man," Dallas poked at his cheek with his tongue in annoyance.