Plumes of smoke blew in from Hollywood Boulevard, sending ash across Franklin Avenue in dirty flurries, depositing a thick dusting of gray silt on our window sills.
Even though the burning and looting was happening just down the street, most everyone in our East Hollywood apartment complex — and the buildings on either side of us — was following news of the 1992 L.A. riots via local broadcasts.
CNN was still a luxury meant for those who could afford cable. Digital news wasn’t a thing yet. And social media? Nonexistent. Cellphones were still car phones, and none of my broke, barely twentysomething friends had those.
Chopper Bob hovered above Florence and...