Streetcorna usually wrapped his day at eight or nine in the evening, after the video store down the street had rented most of what it was going to rent and the drugstore and bookstore closed and the traffic slowed, Then he returned to his car, drove to a side street or a grocery store parking lot, and read in his car by streetlight or candlelight.

On the last day of his life, Streetcorna arrived at his post at 7:10 in the morning. He sold one tape for ten dollars during the next two hours, lit a joint at 9:15, and went into his rap, "I'm a dissin' the Districk, the ho's in Deecee. "

As he rapped with his eyes shut, two young men crossed Laurel Canyon. They were blond, tall, and walking slowly as they ate pita sandwiches. They were wearing tennis whites and carrying gym bags. When they neared Streetcorna, one man stopped slightly behind him on his right, the other slightly behind him on his left. As pedestrians rushed by, trying to make the Walk signal on the light, the men calmly took tire irons from their bags and slammed them into the front of the man's knees.

Streetcorna fell with a howl, his sunglasses shattering as his face hit the pavement. People began to slow and watch as the young man screamed again and curled painfully into a fetal position. Before he could turn and look at his attackers, however, the men raised the irons and brought them down viciously on the side of his head. His skull broke on the first strike, splashing the concrete with blood, but the men delivered two more blows apiece. Streetcorna jerked with each of the blows, then died.

"Jesus!" a young woman screamed as the horrible reality of what had happened made its way through the crowd, like a serpent. "Jesus!" she screamed again, her face entirely white. "What have you done?"

As one of the young men stood, the other patted their victim down.

"Silenced his crap," said the man who had risen.

An old black woman leaning on a well-worn cane yelled, "Someone call the police! Someone help!"

The youth looked at her, then walked to where she was standing, by the drugstore. People moved out of his way. The old woman leaned her body away from him but her expression remained defiant.

"Hey!" a middle-aged white man yelled, inserting himself between them. "Back, off--"

The attacker drove his right heel down hard on the man's left instep. The middle-aged man crumpled in pain. The black woman backed against the window of the drugstore.

The savage youth put his face in hers and said, "You shut your stinking hole."

"Not as long as I'm breathing American air," she replied.

With a sneer, the youth drove the front of the iron into her mouth. She doubled over and he pushed her down easily.

The young white man lurched forward and threw himself over her.