The Brief

I met Cesar Quijano in April of 2024 while he was training for the biggest race of his life — a 100-mile trek in the San Diego mountains.

Quijano didn’t want to just complete the San Diego 100. He wanted to run it in under 24 hours — a goal that would mean running under 9 minute miles for 24 hours straight. For someone who couldn’t run a mile a few years ago, this would be a feat.

“I never accomplished anything in my life,” he said. “I never started anything or wanted to start anything because I was afraid of failing.”

Cesar Quijano

Quijano is a recovering heroin addict who had been out of prison for two-and-a-half years. For him, the San Diego 100 wasn’t just about a physical triumph. It was about proving to himself that he could finish something for once in his life.

In many ways, running was keeping Quijano afloat, giving him a sense of purpose and structure. It was also consuming his life.

 ”People say that it's an obsession, and I think it is,” Quijano said. “I think I overdo it sometimes, but it's keeping me sane. ”

From prison to running his first mile

For the past 15 years, Quijano has been in and out of various prisons across California. He grew up in San Diego and had little guidance as a kid. He dropped out of school, and by the time he was 12, Quijano had joined a gang. Soon, he was going to juvenile hall and less than two months after getting out of juvenile hall at 18 years old, he was involved in a robbery. He got two years. Not long after he got out, he got in trouble again and he was sentenced to four years. Two years later, he was back serving a six-year sentence.. 

From Corcoran to Chino, Calipatria to Ironwood — every time Cesar got out of a state prison, he’d end up going back.

On Jan. 1, 2022, he wanted this reentry to be his last.

I reached out to the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) — the agency that operates the state’s prison and parole systems. They said they provide a comprehensive reentry planning process, which connects formerly incarcerated people to various services outside of prison. Quijano learned about his reentry options, not from CDCR, but from a family member who had also been to prison.

And he decided to go to Amity, a transitional home in Vista, 60 miles outside San Diego, with comprehensive reentry services.

Amity's Vista campus about 60 miles east of San Diego, where Cesar lived when he got out of prison.

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Cesar Quijano

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At Amity, Quijano started attending self-help workshops for the first time in his life. He also grew close with the organization’s Associate Director of Residential Campus, Oswaldo “Ozzie” Terriquez, who introduced Quijano to running. At first, Quijano couldn’t finish a mile.

“I think it took me like two weeks, three weeks just to be able to finish that mile,” Quijano said. “But then something clicked. Now, I had a goal.”

California’s shifting focus towards reentry 

Cesar Quijano is one of 35,000 to 40,000 people released from prison each year in California and going through the process of reentering society, a process known as “reentry.” Nearly 30% of this total population will parole to Los Angeles County, more than any other county in the state.

A wave of criminal justice reforms and a national shift away from mass incarceration meant a refocusing of efforts toward supporting people in reentry. Since 2019, California Gov. Gavin Newsom approved the closure of three adult prison facilities. Another prison is set to close this year. He dismantled death row and is turning San Quentin, the state’s oldest prison, into a rehabilitation center based on Norway’s prison model. As the state plans for a continued reduction in the prison population, creating pathways to a successful reentry is crucial.

When it comes to supporting people getting out of prison, there are several key factors to successful reentry.

“ Housing and employment and trying to establish some source of income,” said Professor Elsa Chen, who teaches at Santa Clara University. “And then some of the other obstacles might seem a little bit more abstract.”

Those abstract elements include social networks, civic participation, mental health, and finding a sense of structure and purpose.

Quijano found a lot of those qualitative needs through Amity, his mentor Ozzie, and ultrarunning.

“ Things that I was missing my whole life I gained by going to Amity.” Cesar said.

As for running?

“ It's a spiritual experience,” Cesar told me. “Having this battle within yourself about whether I should keep going or stop, I see it as a spiritual experience. That's what running does for me.”

Race day: Running 100 miles 

On June 7, 2024, Quijano and 255 other ultrarunners gathered under a “Start” banner at Lake Cuyamaca in the San Diego Mountains. Quijano started the race strong, but by mile 30 he was in what runners call the “pain cave.” By mile 40, he lay down on a rock by the side of the road, and for the first time in the race, contemplated throwing in the towel. But even if Quijanowas ready to give up, other ultrarunners wouldn’t let him. It might be an individual sport, but there is a community mindset. A group ran by Quijano, hoisted him up, and carried him back to the road.

“For a long time…I was never willing to accept help," Quijano said. “But something deeper in me was like, you know what? I need help.”

Twenty-nine hours, 16 minutes and 28 seconds after leaving the starting line, Quijano completed the San Diego 100.

Cesar Quijano poses for a picture for Ozzie, his pacesetter.

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Cesar Quijano

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What made this reentry different 

This January, Quijano celebrated his third year of being out of prison. By CDCR metrics, he’s had a successful reentry. But when I asked Quijano what made this reentry different, he told me it was Amity, and all the people he met there, especially Ozzie. This support system has stood by him throughout his reentry, encouraging him as he trained for the San Diego 100 and showing up to the finish line to cheer him on.

As for direction and purpose? Cesar gets that from running.

Cesar Quijano and his Amity support team at the finish line of the San Diego 100.

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Lucy Copp

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A few weeks after the race I asked Quijano what it felt like to cross the finish line.

“I don't think happiness is the right word," he said. "I think it was something better than happiness because it was more meaningful to me. Just knowing that I've finally finished something that I started.”

To learn more about Cesar Quijano’s reentry and ultrarunning journey, listen to this episode of Imperfect Paradise:

Listen 48:29

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Struggling with addiction and reentry after multiple stints in prison, Cesar Quijano discovers ultrarunning, a hobby that turns into his addiction and salvation. Through Cesar’s story to complete  a 100-mile race, Imperfect Paradise host Antonia Cereijido and producer Lucy Copp explore urgent questions around what support people need to successfully transition out of prison and into society.

How one man rebuilt his life, 100 miles at a time

Struggling with addiction and reentry after multiple stints in prison, Cesar Quijano discovers ultrarunning, a hobby that turns into his addiction and salvation. Through Cesar’s story to complete  a 100-mile race, Imperfect Paradise host Antonia Cereijido and producer Lucy Copp explore urgent questions around what support people need to successfully transition out of prison and into society.

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Meta will lay off 10% of its staff in May, according to an internal memo which was published by Bloomberg. A Meta spokesperson confirmed the report's accuracy to NPR.

The layoffs will take place on May 20 and affect some 8,000 workers. Meta will also not hire for 6,000 open roles that it had intended to fill.

In the memo, Meta's chief people officer Janelle Gale wrote, "We're doing this as part of our continued effort to run the company more efficiently and to allow us to offset the other investments we're making. This is not an easy tradeoff and it will mean letting go of people who have made meaningful contributions to Meta during their time here."

Calling it "unwelcome news" that "puts everyone in an uneasy state," Gale wrote, confirming the layoffs to employees now "is the best path forward, given the circumstances."

Meta and other big players in artificial intelligence have been spending vast amounts of money to build data centers and try to win the AI race — one in which Meta lags behind competitors such as OpenAI, Anthropic and Google.

In January, Meta forecast record capital expenditures this year of up to $135 billion — almost double what it spent last year.

The pivot to AI comes at a time when Meta seems to be backing away from its previous focus on its virtual reality Metaverse products. The Metaverse was once key to CEO Mark Zuckerberg's vision for the company's future — so fundamental that in 2021, he changed the name of the company from Facebook to Meta.

In a separate round of layoffs this month, the company announced that it was laying off some 700 people as part of its efforts in "right-sizing" its investment in Reality Labs, the division that runs the company's Metaverse products.

Meta is also facing a string of costly legal challenges. The company lost two pivotal court cases earlier this year: a New Mexico jury found that Meta failed to protect young users from child sexual exploitation. Penalties in that case could reach $375 million.

Meanwhile, a jury in Los Angeles found the company — along with Google — liable for the mental health problems experienced by a woman who used social media as a small child, awarding her $6 million.

In the Los Angeles case, the woman's lawyers argued that Meta's products were designed to be addictive to kids.

Meta has said it will appeal both lawsuits.

The company faces similar lawsuits, including one brought by several school districts against Meta and several other social media companies, which will be heard in Oakland, California this year.
Copyright 2026 NPR

The first thing you notice when you unwrap the fried chicken sandwich from Hokkaido Fried Chicken is the craggy crust, almost geological in its texture — the kind of fry that makes you want to reconsider every other fried chicken sandwich you've ever eaten.

The craggy, crunchy Hokkaido fried chicken

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Courtesy Hokkaido Fried Chicken

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The chicken itself — shattering on the outside, improbably juicy within — holds its own against everything surrounding it. With the miso vinaigrette slaw, the pickled cucumbers, the chili truffle shoyu sauce, it’s a revelation — and for me, the best fried chicken sandwich I’ve ever eaten in L.A., hands down.

Hokkaido by way of Arcata

Hokkaido Fried Chicken, which is online-only, has been running since January out of an unassuming ghost kitchen on the edge of Koreatown. It’s the brainchild of Ronuk Patel, an Indian American who grew up outside Chicago, fell in love with snowboarding, and relocated to Arcata, a Northern California town about three hours from the Oregon border.

Ronuk Patel, chef and owner of Hokkaido Fried Chicken and Hokkaido Soup Curry, at his ghost kitchen on Olympic Blvd on the outskirts of Koreatown.

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Courtesy Hokkaido Fried Chicken

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There, he built a career as a cannabis farmer — and began making regular snowboarding pilgrimages to Hokkaido, Japan's northernmost island, chasing powder and, eventually, some of the most interesting food he'd ever eaten. It was on that first trip to Sapporo, over a decade ago, that he met Gory, a Japanese chef who would become a close friend and, eventually, his collaborator.

In 2024, Patel sponsored Gory's visa and brought him to Arcata to help launch Susukino Ramen Bar — named after the Sapporo neighborhood where they first met. It was there, with Gory's family zangi recipe on the menu as an appetizer, that the seed of Hokkaido Fried Chicken was planted.

What is zangi?

Most Angelenos with a passing familiarity with Japanese cuisine know karaage — the lightly battered, juicy fried chicken that has become a fixture on Japanese menus across the city. Zangi is Hokkaido's answer to that tradition, and it plays in a different register entirely. Where karaage tends toward a lighter touch — a brief marinade, a delicate crust — zangi goes deeper. The marinade is heavier on soy and sake, more aggressive with garlic and ginger and almost always incorporates a fruit component that varies by chef.

Patel and Gory pushed it further still, applying a dry batter separately after marinating — rather than mixing everything together in the traditional wet batter method — for a crust that fries up dramatically craggier and crunchier. The result is chicken that is deeply seasoned all the way through and improbably juicy — both of which hit you immediately on first bite.

The HFC sandwich up close — the craggy, dry-battered crust is the first thing you notice, a direct result of Patel and chef Gory's decision to depart from zangi's traditional wet batter.

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Gab Chabrán

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LAist

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Inside the sandwich

Bite into the sandwich ($10.99), and you immediately understand why it took four or five months to get here. Every detail is thought through. The miso slaw cuts the richness of the chicken without competing with it. The cucumbers, pickled in a brine riffed from Patel's own recipe, add brightness and snap. The chili truffle shoyu sauce, born from mixing his ramen shop's house chili with a white shoyu-truffle product he'd been experimenting with, ties it together with a depth that sneaks up on you.

Just getting started

Fried chicken sandwiches aren't all that's on the menu at HFC. Nuggets and tenders round out the chicken offerings, along with the fries, which are definitely worth ordering — particularly the loaded pork belly fries ($10), topped with chashu pork belly, spicy truffle aioli and green onions over crispy shoestring fries, and the furikake fries ($5), whose umami-rich seasoning makes them a natural companion to the chicken.

Patel has also launched a second concept out of the same ghost kitchen: Hokkaido Soup Curry, a Japanese dish that combines aromatic curry spices with a lighter, broth-based preparation rooted in the same Hokkaido culinary tradition that inspired HFC — and one that hints at the Japanese-Indian fusion menu Patel says he's only just beginning to develop.

For Patel, none of it feels calculated — and that, perhaps, is the point.

"It just happened really organically, naturally, just like us being in the kitchen, having a good time."

This story first appeared on The LA Local.

When I first started, I went alone. I couldn’t convince any of my friends to commit to riding 20 miles on a bicycle on a Friday night through a city known for its car culture. It didn’t help that I told them the bike ride would start in Koreatown, among the most densely populated neighborhoods in the whole country. 

I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. 

What I discovered is that Los Angeles Critical Mass (LACM) is the largest community bicycle ride in the United States, drawing almost 4,000 riders each month, according to the group’s own records. 

The modern Critical Mass movement began in San Francisco in 1992 as a grassroots effort to reclaim the streets has since grown into a global movement, with Los Angeles now hosting one of its largest rides.

LACM Vice President JoJo Valdez, told The LA Local that the event is ”a living example of what safer, more human-centered streets could look like” in the City of Angels. 

Critical Mass Los Angeles riders roll through Koreatown, January 2026.

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Courtesy of LACM

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The ride takes place on the last Friday of every month on the corner of Western and Wilshire across from The Wiltern. Routes change monthly, turning each ride into a moving tour of the city. Some rides head west toward Marina del Rey, others east toward Mariachi Plaza, passing through neighborhoods that rarely feel connected outside of car travel.

As the ride moves through different neighborhoods, it often brings energy — and customers — to local businesses along the route as riders stop for food, drinks and supplies throughout the evening.

Valdez said, “Cyclists, skaters and riders moving together make the demand for alternative transportation impossible to ignore.”

A cyclist takes off on a monthly Critical Mass ride in Koreatown on Nov 8th, 2025.

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Steve Saldivar

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The LA Local

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L.A. is the last place you’d expect a mass cycling movement to take hold. That’s probably why it did. In a city defined by gridlock, LACM offers something rare — movement through neighborhoods at a human pace.

I’ve experienced it firsthand. 

For me, LACM became an alternative to the typical night out. Instead of bars or clubs, it became a way to decompress, stay active and explore the city differently.

Over time, I built connections that turned into a consistent group of six friends I now ride with each month. I’ve even brought my girlfriend along, and it’s become one of our favorite end-of-month traditions.

Critical Mass Los Angeles riders roll through Los Angeles.

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Courtesy of LACM

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How a ride typically goes

The LA chapter of Critical Mass is led by LACM President Lisa Lundie and Valdez, who both began as volunteers before stepping into leadership roles for the Los Angeles chapter. According to the organization, their focus includes accessibility, community and mental wellness accessibility, community and mental wellness — and those values show up throughout the ride itself.

Valdez said that what people see — the crowds and energy — is only part of the story. There is real coordination and planning to keep the ride safe and organized as it moves through the city.

“We look out for each other. We ride together. If you’re alone, you won’t stay that way for long,” he said.

Critical Mass Los Angeles riders roll through Hollywood Boulevard, December of 2024.

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Courtesy of LACM

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Ride marshals help guide traffic, support newer riders and keep the group together, while a lead vehicle sets the pace and support riders follow behind to ensure no one is left behind. The result is a ride that may feel overwhelming at first, given the number of people, but quickly settles into a relaxed rhythm.

With everyone following the lead car and built-in stops to regroup, it becomes approachable for first-timers and more communal than a typical solo ride through Los Angeles.

As the ride unfolds, speakers carried by riders create a shifting soundtrack — hip-hop, EDM, reggae and Latin music blending with each neighborhood the group passes through, turning the streets into a moving reflection of L.A.’s culture.

Critical Mass Los Angeles riders roll through Koreatown.

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Louie Martinez

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The LA Local

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Some rides carry deeper meaning, including moments of silence for cyclists lost to traffic accidents and ongoing calls for safer streets.

This month’s ride, taking place on April 24 at 7:00 p.m., will celebrate West Coast hip-hop legend DJ Battlecat, who will perform from the lead vehicle, transforming the ride into a rolling party on wheels.

The distance might sound intimidating, but the pace is manageable, with plenty of breaks and lots of potential new friends.  Whether you come with a group or show up solo, Critical Mass offers a new way to experience Los Angeles one ride at a time.

Cyclists gather for the monthly Critical Mass rides in Koreatown on Nov 8th, 2025.

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Steve Saldivar

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The LA Local

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