Under an offensively bright sky that stretches from the cess pool of Los Angeles to the dirty streets of Long Beach and South Bay. We live and die for our crews and views. Some will tell you punk died or went away. We’re still fucking here! Damaged we ride our skateboards through cracked streets sweating out the toxins the city feeds us through osmosis. We really come out in the dark hours hangin in alleyways and street corners. Patches flown like gang colors let us know Who’s on our side and who to watch out for. We never walk alone. Under this black sun of so cal death we live!