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Ponyboy walking home.
Ponyboy getting jumped.
Need a haircut Greaser!?!?!
Ponyboy getting helped.
I was sweating something fierce, although I was cold. I could feel my palms getting clammy and the perspiration running down back. I get like that when I'm real scared. I glanced around fora pop bottle or a stick or something-Steve Randle, Soda's best buddy, had once held off four guys with a busted pop bottle-but there was nothing. So I stood there like a bump on a log while they surrounded me. I don't use my head. They walked around slowly, silently, smiling.
"Hey Grease," one said in an over-friendly voice. "We're gonna do you a favor, greaser. We're gonna cut all that long greasy hair off." He had on a madras shirt. I can still see it. Blue madras. One of them laughed, then cussed me out in a low voice. I couldn't think of anything to say. There just isn't a whole lot you can say while waiting to get mugged, so I kept my mouth shut. "Need a haircut, greaser?" The medium sized blond pulled a knife out of his back pocket and flipped the blade open.
They had me down in a second. They had my arms and legs pinned down and one of them was sitting on my chest with his knees and elbows, and if you don't think that hurts you're crazy. Then there were shouts and pounding of feet, and the Socs jumped up and left me lying there, gasping. Then someone had me under the armpits and was hauling me to my feet. It was Darry.
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