It doesn’t work that way.

You ’will never belive it.

It never stopped, this running. We were constant prey, and the hunters soon became big blurs: the police, the gangs, the junkies, the dudes on Gaarvey Boulevard who took our money, all smudged into one. Sometimes they were teachers who jumped on us Mexicans as if we were born with a hiduous stain. we were always afraid. Always Running.

Wich is the ultimate struggle, the one fight really worth fighting.

A la brava! understand?

Nobody had books at home. My dad was a very educated person, so he would have books at home. All Spanish books. That helped. Most of my homies had no books at home.

To go against gangs or drugs is meaningless unless this is mostly done by filling in the empties, the vacuums, and stop the neglect and harm we do as detached, mean, irresponsible adults and communities. The answer is in our hands.

There are choices you have to make not just once.

I was kind of a weird homie; I was a weird kid. Nobody in my family loved books. I’m the only one.

I was arrested and put in murder’s row. They were trying to get me for some murders I didn’t do. They had me in a cell next to Charles Manson; he was going to trial at the time. And it was all a row of black and brown guys and one white guy: Charles Manson.