Every night is the same.
Iris Marrera falls into a restless sleep to the sounds of gunfire. Several times a night, she creeps into her sons' bedroom, praying that they haven't been shot. One night they woke up screaming that the bullets were going to hit them. They were under the covers, crying. Neighbors have planted trees and keep their porches clean on her block, but nearly every corner is ruled by hordes of brazen drug dealers.