The Brief

Over the summer, a slew of bands began to make similar announcements on social media: They'd be pulling their music off Spotify, the largest streaming service in the world.

It started in June with indie rock quartet Deerhoof. Within weeks, groups like Xiu Xiu, King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard and Hotline TNT followed suit. The wave of departures continued into September; most recently, The Mynabirds, WU LYF, Kadhja Bonet and Young Widows have all decided to leave Spotify. So why are musicians — many of them independent — removing their songs from the most popular streamer globally, which has nearly 700 million users?

All artists cite Spotify Chief Executive Daniel Ek's ties to Helsing, an artificial intelligence defense company with a mission to "attain technological leadership so that democratic societies are free to make sovereign decisions and control their ethical standards." In 2021, Ek's venture capital firm Prima Materia invested more than $100 million into the German startup. In June, Prima Materia raised more than $700 million for Helsing, where Ek is now also chairman. He told The Financial Times that Prima Materia is "doubling down" on its investments in light of the role that AI plays in Russia's war on Ukraine. The Financial Times reported that Helsing is now producing its own drones, aircraft and submarines.

It's not the first time artists have decided to cut ties with Spotify. In 2013, Thom Yorke removed his solo albums from the streaming service to protest low royalty payouts (his music has since reappeared on the platform). The following year, Taylor Swift wrote an op-ed in The Wall Street Journal arguing that "music should not be free" and pulled her songs from Spotify; three years later, she returned her discography to all streaming services. In 2022, Neil Young and Joni Mitchell left Spotify in objection to the company's exclusive relationship with Joe Rogan, citing concerns that Rogan was spreading COVID-19 vaccine misinformation on his massively successful podcast, The Joe Rogan Experience. Young and Mitchell ended their boycott in 2024 after Rogan's podcast became available on multiple streaming platforms.

But this most recent exodus, which began shortly after the June fundraising news, marks a new wave of artist-led protests against Spotify.

"We don't want our music killing people. We don't want our success being tied to AI battle tech," Deerhoof wrote in a statement shared with NPR. "Deerhoof is a small mom and pop operation, and know when enough is enough. We aren't capitalists, and don't wish to take over the world. Especially if the price of 'discoverability' is letting oligarchs fill the globe with computerized weaponry, we're going to pass on the supposed benefits."

Spotify and Helsing declined to comment on artists leaving the platform in protest of Ek's investments. But several artists NPR spoke with say their concerns with Spotify span far beyond how the CEO spends his earnings.

"The sound quality is horrible. The disposable-ness of music has become almost culturally endemic, and then obviously the financial aspect of it is a joke," says Jamie Stewart of the experimental rock group Xiu Xiu. "It has not done anything good for bands. It has done good things for itself."

Xiu Xiu formed in California in 2002. Stewart says the rise of file-sharing and iTunes caused a near-immediate decline in royalties, but in the last decade and a half, the popularization of streaming platforms including Spotify has significantly worsened financial compensation.

In a statement shared with NPR, a Spotify spokesperson explained how the company's payout model is structured.

"All of the major streaming services use the same pro rata model for payouts to rightsholders, and we pay the most," the statement reads. "In this model, payouts are based on streamshare, not a per-stream rate. That means if an artist's catalog accounts for 1% of total streams, it would earn 1% of total royalties. It's not a coincidence that the least popular streaming services, where people listen the least, have the highest per-stream rates, as lack of user engagement is exactly what drives a higher per-stream rate."

Spotify's annual economic Loud & Clear report found that the company paid out $10 billion to the music industry in 2024, the most out of any streaming service. The number of people uploading music to Spotify has also grown, which means "the fraction who find success appears smaller over time."

Stewart says Spotify is a large source of digital revenue for Xiu Xiu, and they're expecting to feel an impact from exiting the platform. "We don't make very much money at all to begin with, but it's enough that it's a noticeable amount that we will not be making anymore," they explain. "It's not going to make any difference to Spotify. But it is a very, very small way of standing up to what tech companies have become."

Searching for alternatives 

According to the Recording Industry Association of America, recorded music revenue has been growing consistently for nearly a decade, and streaming is the largest driver of that growth. But a survey conducted in 2024 by MusiCares — the nonprofit founded by the Recording Academy to support the financial, mental and physical well-being of musicians — found that 69% of respondents cannot cover expenses from working in music alone. The artists NPR spoke with expressed frustration that despite record-breaking profits for both the recording industry and streaming services, that money does not seem to always trickle down to the artists.

"It's really hard to have superhigh principles at this point with how problematic so many of these companies are," says Seth Hubbard, director of Xiu Xiu's label, Polyvinyl Records. "If you start looking under the hood a bit, a lot of it is problematic. And then where do you draw the line?"

For singer Kadhja Bonet, the answer is clear. After negotiating an early exit from her former label, Bonet announced in August that all future releases, including her upcoming EP Battlewear, out Sept. 18, will not be available on Spotify, Apple, Deezer, Amazon or YouTube.

"We give these tech giants power by furnishing them with all of our best ideas and driving business their way," Bonet wrote in a statement shared with NPR. "I put a lot of thought and love into the music I make, so it's only right to put the same thought into the way it's delivered."

She recommends alternative platforms and digital stores like Qobuz and Bandcamp.

The indie rock band Hotline TNT, which announced its departure from Spotify in August, is also focusing on substitute revenue streams. On Sept. 5, singer and guitarist Will Anderson hosted a 24-hour livestream on Twitch, YouTube and Instagram to promote sales of the band's latest album, Raspberry Moon. Anderson, who started Hotline TNT as a solo project several years ago, sold over 300 copies of the album on Bandcamp alone, which he says accounts for more profit in 24 hours than the band usually makes in months of Spotify streams. He says fans have been supportive of the group's decision to part ways with Spotify, leading record sales to triple on tour.

"I would like to see consumer spending habits drift back into ownership over this rental system we have right now," Anderson says. "When someone buys one of our records at a show, no one's going to take the music off their shelf overnight like we just did with Spotify."

A new reality

For some artists, a push toward that ownership model works. In January, folk-pop chameleon Caroline Rose announced that her new album, year of the slug, would not be available on any streaming platforms. Instead, with Rose inspired by a similar release model used by artist Cindy Lee, the album would be available for purchase on Bandcamp or directly from Rose on a solo tour of all-independent venues.

"You have to try ever so slightly harder, or you have to come to a show and get an album," she says. "We only had a limited number of vinyl that we were selling, so once it sold, it sold. I miss that feeling that something was special, that there was a limited amount of it."

Rose says the rollout was the culmination of years of frustration with the industry's emphasis on profits and numbers, all of which was exacerbated during the COVID-19 pandemic, when label and tech executives continued to make money while artists canceled tours and struggled to get by.

"It just felt like we were being overlooked and forgotten and everybody else was just kind of biding their time until they could go back to work and everything would be normal again," she says. "It felt catastrophic, and that feeling has only become bigger."

When her label contract ended, Rose says, she breathed a sigh of relief and decided to try something different. In February, year of the slug came out as a completely independent project; it's also her most profitable record to date because it's the only one she fully owns. More importantly, she says, the feedback from fans has been overwhelmingly supportive.

Rose admits that there are drawbacks — this kind of release doesn't lend itself to discovery by new rather than existing listeners, and it would become much more difficult to financially sustain a tour with a full band rather than by herself. But for now, it was the break she needed.

"It's been extremely fulfilling, and personally, I needed this just to feel a little bit more connection to my fans and to the audience. I meet people. We have drinks together. It feels very communal," says Rose. "I want a career of quality rather than any and everything quantifiable. I don't want to be hounded by stats and money and how many ticket sales I'm selling. It's not a quality life to me."

Copyright 2025 NPR

The math club at Bella Vista Elementary School is not a quiet affair — not with more than a dozen 10- and 11-year-olds stacking sets of mahjong.

But before the games can begin, it's time for math lessons.

"Remind me, math is the study of what?" fourth grade teacher Andy Luong asks the class.

Buena Vista elementary school teacher Andy Luong goes over different elements of mahjong with the afterschool math club.

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Some of the 16 students that make up the mahjong math club at Bella Vista Elementary, with club co-founder Rachel Hwang.

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"Pattern, patterns," the kids say.

Luong clicks through several slides, each featuring a mahjong tile the students call "seven sticks."

 "When you first learned this tile, what did you use to memorize this?" Luong, co-founder of the Mahjong Math Club, asks.

"They look like sticks," a boy says.

Luong locks in on a slide for a few seconds, just a flash. It features six tiles, divided into two rows. He asks the class how many tiles they see.

 "Three on the top and three on the bottom," a girl says. " So when I saw the pattern, I was like, 'Oh, it's six.'"

Luong nods. " Recognizing those patterns are a lot faster than counting 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6," he says.

The game that never goes out of style

The tile game of mahjong is believed to have started in China in the 19th century, after decades if not centuries of evolution. It spread globally, adopting regional specificities, including in the U.S. after it landed in the late 1910s from Shanghai by way of an American businessman. A few decades later, a group of Jewish American women established the National Mah Jongg League in New York.

The game never stopped being a staple of Chinese and many Asian cultures — anywhere in the world.

Intergenerational Mahjong is a monthly series held in Monterey Park, one of many new mahjong social clubs in L.A.

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In recent years, fueled in part by the COVID-19 shutdown, an interest in the game has sparked among young Asian Americans. They form or attend social clubs in L.A. dedicated to the pastime, creating their own bond with the game.

Luong is one of them. When he was growing up in Illinois, the game came with certain connotations.

" Mahjong has such a bad rap in the Asian American community," Luong said, who moved to the San Gabriel Valley about a decade ago. "Part of a big reason why my parents don't play is because they associate it with gambling."

The 30-year-old finally gave the game a spin in 2024, learning it from third grade teacher and math club co-founder Rachel Hwang. She cut her teeth by watching her family play. Naturally, she threw Luong in the deep end.

" I was like, 'Here, we're just gonna play,'" Hwang said. " I just put the tiles on."

"I was so overwhelmed. It's like, 'What do you mean I had to get a set? A set of how much?' I'm like, 'I don't know what I'm doing,'" he said.

Still, Luong fell head over heels, quickly becoming a regular at the mahjong social clubs (in fact, it was at one of those events where I first met him) and a student of the game.

In learning it, Luong figured out how to teach it.

Principal Jennifer Martinez of Bella Vista Elementary in Monterey Park

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"He was the one [that] as a learner didn't grow up playing this game," Hwang said. "He was the one that found the tutorials, watched the tutorials, and he really, from a learner's perspective, figured out what a kid needed to learn and how they needed to learn in order to play the game."

Last year, Luong submitted a proposal to start a math club focused on mahjong at the school.

" It was pretty much slam dunk. It explores other avenues of the cultural experience that we want our students to learn," said Jennifer Martinez,  principal of Bella Vista Elementary School.  "It was something that we wanted to get off the ground right away and support."

Since September, the club has been meeting on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. It was so popular Luong and Hwang brought in help to run the club.

“ I don't feel like they're really doing math,” said Ruolin Chen, a kindergarten teacher who was recruited. "It's like they're learning from playing or playing from learning.”

Let the games begin

Fifth graders Emily Le and Brianna Azpeitia at the mahjong math club.

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Fifth grader Liam Torres.

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Back in the classroom, Luong clicks to a last slide to remind the club how to maximize "points" with certain "hands." This semester, the club is playing Hong Kong style mahjong — three point minimum win.

Finally, it's game time. The group of mainly fourth and fifth graders take their seats at the tables: mixing the tiles, stacking them into starting formation, casting the die, so on and so forth.

Then, they build their hand, meticulously rearranging the 13 tiles according to their suits — or in math club parlance, patterns.

The clank of tiles and sounds of "pong" and "gong" soon fill the air.

Pattern recognition, strategy, situational awareness, probability, learning when to pivot or to fold — those are some of the learnings the math club intends.

"Andy is so structured," Hwang said of Luong's design of the club. " The first two weeks, they didn't even play a game. It was like, 'Let's look at the tiles. How many tiles do you see? Pick out and group them into sets.'"

Fifth grader Uma Alvarado.

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Fifth grader Benjamin Garcia.

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Fifth grader Uma Alvarado shows me her hand. She's going all "pong" — trying to assemble four sets of three identical tiles. It'd be worth three points if she wins.

Alvarado says what brings her to the club is the opportunity to hang out with her schoolmates. But trying something new is pretty cool too.

"I get to mix the tiles and find new ways to play a game I have never been introduced to before," she adds.

At another table, fourth grader Bonnie Kuang says the game keeps her on her toes.

Fourth grader Bonnie Kuang (left) and fifth grader Ian Maldonado.

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Fourth grader Sofia Mandic explains how the club has taught her pattern recognition.

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"I think it's fun to use different strategies, and maybe I need to change strategy mid-game," Kuang said. "And I like it when I win."

Sofia Mandic, her same grade classmate and opponent across the table, says the pace of the game makes quick tile recognition key.

"You need to think fast. You need to think to yourself if you need it or not," Mandic says, because oftentimes, there are just seconds to make a decision.

Bringing mahjong into the classroom

Pattern recognition, strategy, situational awareness, probability, learning when to pivot or to fold — those are some of the learnings the math club intends.

"Andy is so structured," Hwang said of Luong's design of the club. " The first two weeks, they didn't even play a game. It was like, 'Let's look at the tiles. How many tiles do you see? Pick out and group them into sets.'"

It's all part of a teaching method known as "counting collections" that focuses on hands-on, student-centered learning experiences to build informal math knowledge. It's one aspect of a body of research called Cognitively Guided Instruction, which all math teachers at Bella Vista are trained in. Luong is applying it to guide his approach.

A slide used in the mahjong math club to teach kids how to calculate points.

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A slide used in the mahjong math club teaching kids how to increase points with certain combinations.

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" We need to have them see there's four different types of tiles. There's [Chinese] characters, there's sticks, circles, and there's honorary tiles," Luong said. "They're not going to know unless they actually see it and they use their hands."

Even then, it's a lot to process. It could be downright overwhelming when a kid has to juggle all the elements all at once during game play.

"The very first time that we actually started playing, some of them didn't finish a game. It took an entire period," Luong said.

It took about a month into the club before the mechanics of the game — things like drawing a tile, discarding the ones they don't want — became routine; and another two months for the kids to play faster and without supervision.

Teachers Rachel Hwang, Ruolin Chen and Andy Luong. They run the Mahjong Math Club at Bella Vista Elementary in Monterey Park.

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"A lot of the students who don't know Mandarin, or have any Chinese background, are starting to recognize the characters. I'm really proud to say that," Luong said.

Ultimately, the teachers want the kids to take away from the game a lesson about life.

"What we really want the kids to do is not to have such a fixed mindset," Luong said.

" We want them to, A) be flexible, B) change up your game plan," Hwang said. "It's OK. Life is going to throw curve balls at you."

Updated April 26, 2026 at 11:13 AM ET

President Trump and the first lady are uninjured after a shooting at the White House Correspondents' Dinner on Saturday in Washington, D.C. A suspect is in custody, according to a statement from the U.S. Secret Service.

In remarks from the White House after the incident, the president said a Secret Service agent is "doing great" after being shot in a bulletproof vest. The Secret Service said the incident took place at a security screening area inside the Washington Hilton hotel near the entrance to the main ballroom where the event was taking place. There are no reports of further injuries.

The suspect has been identified as Cole Allen, according to two sources familiar with the matter. The sources spoke on condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to speak publicly.

Trump shared surveillance footage online which appears to show law enforcement reacting to an assailant sprinting through an area of the hotel. He also posted pictures of a man, shirtless, with his eyes closed lying face down on a carpet.

Cole is being charged with using a firearm during a crime of violence and assault on a federal officer using a dangerous weapon, with more charges likely, according to Jeanine Pirro, the U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia.

At a law enforcement press conference, Jeffery Carroll of DC's Metropolitan Police said that the suspect "was armed with a shotgun, a handgun and multiple knives." Law enforcement said they believe the suspect was a guest at the hotel.

He was evaluated at a local hospital after the incident and was not hit by gunfire, according to law enforcement.

Getty Images photographer Andrew Harnik takes photos as a security official points his weapon after an incident at the annual White House Correspondents' Association Dinner.

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A chaotic scene

Gunshots were heard by gathered reporters shortly after 8:30 p.m. ET. Several guests were seen fleeing the ballroom where hundreds of journalists, politicians and attendees were gathered — including Trump, Vice President Vance and other members of the administration.

Video from inside the room showed security quickly clear the guests on the main stage — including the president and first lady. Someone can be heard shouting "stay down."

President Trump took to social media shortly after being rushed out to praise the Secret Service.

Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. is taken out of the ballroom by security agents during a shooting incident at the annual White House Correspondents Association Dinner.

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"Quite an evening in D.C. Secret Service and Law Enforcement did a fantastic job. They acted quickly and bravely. The shooter has been apprehended," Trump wrote.

The president said in a later post that all cabinet members are safe.

"I said earlier tonight that journalism is a public service, because when there is an emergency, we run to the crisis, not away from it. And on a night when we are thinking about the freedoms in the First Amendment, we must also think about how fragile they are," Weijia Jiang, the president of the correspondents' association, said. "I saw all of you reporting, and that's what we do. Thank God everybody's safe and and thank you for coming together tonight. We will do this again."

First lady Melania Trump and President Trump were sitting next to each other just before they were rushed out of the ballroom at the Washington Hilton.

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Several members of Congress were seen leaving the event by foot, including Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse, D-R.I., and Rep. Jared Moskowitz, D-Fla.

"I said earlier tonight that journalism is a public service, because when there is an emergency, we run to the crisis, not away from it. And on a night when we are thinking about the freedoms in the First Amendment, we must also think about how fragile they are," Weijia Jiang, the president of the correspondents' association, said. "I saw all of you reporting, and that's what we do. Thank God everybody's safe and and thank you for coming together tonight. We will do this again."

Attacks on Trump and the press

Both the president and members of the press have been targeted for violence in recent years.

During his 2024 reelection effort, Trump was injured in a shooting at a July rally in Pennsylvania when a bullet whizzed past his head, grazing his ear. Two attendees were wounded, and rally-goer and former fire chief Corey Comperatore was killed.

A Secret Service sniper shot and killed the perpetrator.

In September 2024, a Secret Service agent saw a man holding a semi-automatic rifle hidden in the tree line at Trump International in West Palm Beach. The suspect fled in his car and was arrested a short time later.

White House Correspondents Association President and CBS Senior White House Correspondent Weijia Jiang pauses while coming back to the stage to speak after a shooting incident at the annual White House Correspondents Association Dinner.

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He was later sentenced to life in prison.

During the Jan. 6, 2021, riot at the U.S. Capitol building, more than a dozen journalists were attacked in targeted assaults by rioters, according to a tally by the Freedom of the Press foundation. "Murder the media" was etched into a doorway during the attack.

In 2018, a man mailed pipe bombs to people and organizations he perceived to be critics of Donald Trump, including CNN offices in New York and Atlanta. He was sentenced to 20 years in prison.

The Washington Hilton, which played host to Saturday's dinner, is also the site of past political violence — in 1981, President Reagan was shot and seriously wounded outside of the hotel.

Three others were also injured in the attack, including Reagan's press secretary James Brady, who sustained brain damage and was permanently disabled in the attack. He became a gun control activist, successfully lobbying alongside his wife Sarah Brady for a background check system for firearm sales.

The White House Press Briefing Room, where Trump made brief remarks after the incident, was later renamed in his honor.

Deepa Shivaram and Ryan Lucas contributed to this report.

Copyright 2026 NPR

Before they ever picked up a paintbrush, youth artists behind a new mural in MacArthur Park started by listening.

“We interviewed people in MacArthur Park about their experiences living in the community,” said Tania Castro, a recent high school graduate and one of 20 young artists who worked on the project. “Some stories were a little bit sad because they said they lost their jobs and they need more opportunities.”

Those conversations shaped “Roots of Our Labor,” a new mural unveiled this week by LA Commons across the street from MacArthur Park. The project, led by artists Luis Mateo and Shakir Manners, draws from stories collected in a yearlong process from more than 75 residents in and around MacArthur Park.

Castro says those stories were about more than struggle.

“They also said they loved the community. In the park, you can see a lot of vendors selling things like fruit and ice cream,” she said. “And the kids love it.”

Youth artists and members of LA Commons pose for a photo in front of the "Roots of our labor" mural during its unveiling event on Thursday, April 23, in MacArthur Park.

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The mural shows a tree bearing avocados and oranges, with a trunk made of intertwined hands and a farmer harvesting the fruit. On one side, a tamale vendor is depicted selling food, and on the other, an ice cream vendor pushes a cart as children gather around him. In the background, scenes from MacArthur Park play out. 

In a neighborhood where ongoing immigration raids have fueled fear and instability, and where MacArthur Park is often defined by visible homelessness and crime, organizers said the mural is intended to highlight the diverse communities who live there and to frame the park as a shared space of connection, culture and daily life.

“I enjoyed making it because it really teaches us about the importance of community and being more inclusive and kind to each other,” said high school artist Leslie Gonzalez. “Most of the people we talked to told us about their backgrounds and they weren’t that pleasant but they still pushed through and got together for each other.”

Painted in March at the Central American Resource Center (CARECEN), the mural is installed on the southeastern side of the UCLA James Lawson Jr. Worker Justice Center.

“Immigrants are critical to the community, especially here in MacArthur Park,” said Beth Peterson, community arts program director at LA Commons. “And I think the mural does a beautiful job of really sharing that story. It really shows how the hands of immigrants have really hung together to form this very beautiful community that we live in today.” 

Detail of "Roots of Our Labor" mural at UCLA James Lawson Jr. Worker Justice Center. The mural celebrates workers in the Westlake community.

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For the lead artists, working alongside youth was central to how the art took shape.

“This artwork honors both the neighborhood and the people who shape it,” Mateo said. “Working with youth was essential to the process, allowing the mural to emerge from shared reflection rather than a single perspective.”

The new mural builds on LA Commons’ ongoing work in the area, following another mural unveiled last September at MacArthur Park Elementary School. “Roots of Our Labor” is the organization’s second mural supported by Stop the Hate, a statewide initiative led by the Asian American and Pacific Islander community aimed at addressing hate incidents and promoting cross-cultural understanding.

LA Commons, a nonprofit arts organization that creates community-based public art projects through partnerships and a mix of public and private funding, has been in the MacArthur Park area for more than 20 years. Its first public art project in the neighborhood was in 2003. “Roots of Our Labor” is its 22nd public art project in MacArthur Park.

Detail of "Roots of Our Labor" mural at UCLA James Lawson Jr. Worker Justice Center. The mural celebrates workers in the Westlake community.

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Manners, the artist, described the mural as a reflection of what he sees as the underlying spirit of MacArthur Park.

It represents “the unseen hands that sustain communities, emphasizing that true progress is built collectively through persistence, sacrifice and shared purpose,” he said.

For Gonzalez, the mural is personal as well as something tied closely to her community.

“I feel like a light has shone on me and I’m proud of it because I’ve never done anything this big before,” she said. 

The post New mural celebrates labor, multicultural community around MacArthur Park appeared first on LA Local.

The phone lines at the East L.A. Sheriff’s Station are back up after more than two months of outages caused by copper wire theft.  

The update comes just one week after Boyle Heights Beat reported on the issue, and residents raised concerns at a Maravilla Community Advisory Committee (MCAC) meeting on April 7 about difficulty reaching the station by phone for non-emergencies.

According to the East L.A. Sheriff’s Station, service was restored on Thursday, April 23. By Friday, all dispatchers were back working in the station after temporarily operating out of an off-site communications trailer connected via satellite. 

“This was made possible due to the concerted efforts of the East Los Angeles Sheriff Station Captains Hinchman and Kusayanagi, AT&T, and our Communications & Fleet Management Bureau,” the station said in a statement to the Beat. 

The station also thanked Assemblymember Jessica Caloza’s office and community stakeholders who contacted AT&T to express urgency.

Sheriff’s officials previously said they had called Caloza’s office to help speed up repairs by communicating with AT&T.

What went wrong

According to Sgt. Michael Mileski, the outage was caused by an incident on Feb. 13, where several thousand dollars’ worth of copper wiring was stolen from an electrical vault near the station. Fiber optic cables were damaged in the process, which affected a significant portion of the Eastern Avenue corridor in Boyle Heights and East L.A., disrupting phone lines for 100,000 residents for five days, Mileski said. 

AT&T said in a statement that copper cable outages generally take five times longer to repair on average than fiber outages. 

Copper wire theft has plagued the Eastside in recent years, leaving communities in the dark and disabling public facilities.  

LA Documenter Alex Medina contributed reporting for this story. LA Documenters trains and pays LA residents to take notes at local government meetings around Los Angeles. You can find meeting notes and audio at losangeles.documenters.org

The story Phone lines restored at East LA Sheriff’s Station after 2-month outage due to copper wire theft appeared first on LA Local.