"I can't help it if you've got nice legs!"

"You can keep your hand to yourself, little brother!"

Don bristled. "Little brother, hell! I'm almost as big as Dad!"

"I don't care… I don't want you to do that! It isn't right, and you know it!"

"I'll do what the hell I want to!" he said, defiantly.

"You do… and I'll tell Mom!"

"Oh, Christ! Here we go, again!" he mimicked. "I'll tell Mom! Don't sweat it, though, Sis, because I'm going to split one of these day. I've had it! It's the street for me!"

"You're going to… run away?"

"Soon's I get a little bread… I'll be long gone!"

"Why?" she asked. "Anyway… you've got to graduate from high school!"

"School! Crap, Sis… there's nothing for me at school! Only the chicks! Man! Some of them come on strong… like, you know… they swing! Groovy."

Don left the avenue and turned into their street. Reaching the house, he turned into the driveway and parked the motorcycle. Charity clambered down and went into the house, feeling the dislike deep in her of the shabbiness the whole place exuded.

She passed through the living room, where her father sat, glassy-eyed, nursing a can of beer and watching a newscast on the portable television set. He sat, heavily, wearing only an undershirt and tan work pants, his paunch hanging over his belt, slightly. He had kicked off his shoes. A three-day growth of beard darkened his jowls.

Gabriel Scott's eyes lighted up as she came in, responding with a grunt to her airy greeting. His eyes roamed over her figure, his head twisting to follow her path through the living room and dining room to the door of her bedroom that opened up off the dining area. He turned back to the T.V. newscaster, only after she had disappeared into the sanctuary of her bedroom. Christ! She gets prettier every day! No matter what they say… those short skirts sure show a lot! Damn…! And she's my daughter… turning into quite a woman!