Many of my fellow university students dispersed, skipping out on some finals. I didn't have much of a choice as I'd plunged into becoming a full-time resident of Los Angeles. For several days up and down South Vermont Street, you could see fires engulfing commercial strip mall buildings. There were so many fires set, the fire department could not keep up. The looting was so widespread that the police could not do anything but to stand and watch. What started out as pure anger over the Rodney King verdict become something closer to "Hell with the rigged system, I'm getting mine".
LA's a weird reality. Even before and long after, at night you could always rely on police helicopters flying with their spotlight shining down and gunshots fired off in quick succession. You think I'm joking, but I'm not -- every night. It is so far beyond normal, but like all things you get used to it after a while. It wasn't until I moved away, that I had come to realize how indifferent I had grown to the chaos.
Add that existing layer of chaos to what happened, starting on April 29, 1992, and you might begin to feel the level of fear that gripped the city.
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