The White Fence Gang
Homeboys of Boyle Heights
It was three o’clock in the morning. I figured it would be safe; my accomplices and I would be undisturbed. Or, I thought, we might get away with our carefully planned caper without disturbing anyone else — all for art’s sake.
I lay prone, propped up on my elbows, looking out the back of a 1970-something Ford station wagon with its tailgate down, clutching a…