Through the neighborhoods of the windy city lay boundaries unseen by the naked eye. Gangways and alley ways, main streets and train tracks, paint lines in colors defining its affiliations. Generations of shags and cardigan sweaters. Spray cans meet brick walls turning working class homes into world class ghettos. One by one these streets turn immigrants into thugs, mothers turn to legends… La Llorona looking for her lost sons. We have become Kings and Queens in the land of the lost, where we have gained nothing but entire cell blocks. Stacks of cash serve as evidence and scars as reminders, you still have your Jordans and Timbs but you can’t wear them with that red stained color. There was once a time when the young ones yearned to become lords in the brick jungle. We came together because we were separated, segregated, and to this day we maintain the parts of the City that they did not want! With power plants that make us weak, after so long we finally see them closed, but for what and why? Now we can’t afford to live in gentrification, white flight has made its full cycle and they want their land close to the skyscrapers. Some of us have survived… but after so long we will always be gangsters, even if we’re not!