1992, South Cental Los Angelos, six years passed since the L.A. Riots, but war still bounds our lives, a war where we graduate everyday we live.
Blue or red creates our uniforms, sureño or norteño, crips or bloods, creates our title, and our race creates our label.
As we rep our flags and throw up our symbols, to calling our people with a signature whistle, to killing others with our only weapons, trying to stay alive for another session.
This is where it happens.
This is El Barrio.