21-year-old Kilianne Bellamri has been hanging out at the same spot for as long as he can remember.

It's just a green patch below a public housing project on the outskirts of Paris

in a low-income area the French call Une Cité.

For Kilianne and his friends, that spot is home.

There is a small park in the back of my house next to the Rue Gambetta.

We find ourselves in this park and in the Rue Gambetta almost every day.

Even if the police comes and we say to leave, we always come back. It's our place.

Kilianne's spot is in Malacov, a working-class suburb or Bonlieu south of Paris.

The way Kilianne sees it, he and his buddies, his butt, they're not doing anything wrong just by hanging out.

But the French call, training, they've lived in Malacov their whole lives.

I train there with my friends, my cousin Adam and my brother Samy.

My brother Samy has been with me for three years.

In public, with people, he is shy.

But with us, he is not shy. He talks a lot and makes us laugh.

We know each other since we are children. We come all from Malacov.

And their friends hanging around the street every day.

Kilianne felt like some folks in the neighborhood were intimidated by him and his friends.

But one night, everything changed.

In the cold early morning hours between December 8th and December 9th, 2018,

Kilianne and his friends did the unexpected.

This evening, we were in a rush, like all the other ones.

And fortunately, we were there.

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