roduct of the streets and had seen it all. But his days of being on the streets were numbered; he could feel it inside. The hatred and the anger and the violence were starting to wear thin on him now. It all seemed so pointless. Someone would say something unfavorable to someone else, someone would look at someone else the wrong way, somebody would bump into someone by accident, and boom, the shooting would start. No words were exchanged, no fists fight, no attempt to talk things out, just guns were drawn and then lead and smoke would start to fill the streets. It was sickening.He'd been able to keep up the pretense of being one of the "boys" up until now, not that he'd been a saint. One never grows up in the tough parts of his neighborhood faking it. He'd done his own brand of violence throughout the years that earned him honor and respect among his peers. But this pretense he'd kept up, this life he had chosen to be involved in, he knew deep down inside wasn't for him. He'd seen too many good people go down for no reason at all, and he had had enough. But he'd have to be careful as to when he would terminate his association with the street life. He wanted to do it on his own terms, and to be respected for it. But for now, he would wait it out until he felt it was the right time. The time was getting close. Johnny rounded out the pack. Being Caucasian didn't have its advantages in this part of town, and he was constantly being teased or called names. Among his street peers, which all happen to be either Hispanic or Black, he was known as "Vanilla Ice," "redneck," or "Guero (meaning White Boy in Spanish)," and an assortment of other names that were even more cruel or demeaning. But coming from a family of modest means and having established themselves among that part of town, he'd worked his way into one of the local gangs, just so that he wouldn't get beaten up every day. It was called "survival." Eventually, he met up with Rick, who d...
