Thinking about all the greasers who die in ordinary, undramatic ways that don’t make the news, who aren’t dubbed heroes and don’t even cause enough of a stir to be branded as hoodlums, who die every day in everyday ways, whose deaths are the background rattle of their living conditions like a faulty boiler in winter.
A hood in the Shepard gang with the wildest stories of surviving getting stabbed, shot at, and hit with a Soc’s corvette, gets the flu and dies on his couch. His gang is so angry and restless because they can’t beat up an illness or the doctors he didn’t even see. Angela is the one who finds him when she’s dispatched to bring him some soup, because that’s what greaser girls are for - to patch up their boys, to play fucking nursemaid, to be the even more unnoticed witnesses to the unnoticed deaths; the deaths not action packed enough for boys to stomach.
Reading this changed my life a little bit sort of.




















