Parts of The Barrio were still smoldering. While the reality was that the broken down, busted, barely better than a project apartment complex had never been much to look at, symbolically it was huge to Los Vagos. It was their home, their sacred place. Now, it lay in ruins, again. A family with two small children searched what was left of their apartment. The mother cried and the children played. On the other side, some young men sifted through the rubble, scavenging.
Mira stepped out of the non-descript car she was driving and the movement stopped. She motioned the young men over. The wall with the virgin painted on it was still standing and she wanted to make sure it was preserved. She handed the men some money and whispered instructions.
At this point she didn’t know if it was even worth the umpteenth re-build. What was left of the Vagos was not the same, she certainly wasn’t the same. Did they even fit here anymore? Did she?