I’m a young woman born unto babes of the ’60s, into the inner city of Los Angeles. Not East enough to be East side, nor West enough to be West side. An impression was left, nevertheless. I was born of an oasis whose magnitude I can’t help but take for granted and whose blessings I reap still. I am eternally grateful. This time, I present to you, HOOD GLORY.
There are many unsavory things about the hood. The realities of the real Rick Ross. The sadness that echoes through neighborhoods whose sacrificial war wealth was devoured by their children as they sought for something soulless: the increasingly temporary satisfaction that crack cocaine and heroine bring. This state echoes across America in pockets of colorless sadness, and the afflicted communities have a certain dreariness about them.