Photo courtesy of Rusty StraitRusty Strait. ■ Rusty Strait / Senior Reporter Gangs have changed. Growing up near Charleston, West Virginia, we had gangs. We played king of the hill, had disputes, got into fist-fights. The following day we would all be back in school with scratches and bruises and plenty of prominent black eyes. We did not stick a shiv in an adversary’s side, nor did we grab a gun and eliminate anyone. Truth to be, we were friends again, all living to have another round down the road and another day of forgiving one another. That is not the case today. Not in Hemet or San Jacinto or anyplace

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