Bookie and I walked over to his "homies crib" to stop in an say hello. Four months out of Clarksdale, Bookie was back with our Habitat trip and I was doing him a favor.

Z-Balls and Bird live in a run-down shack just off Poplar by the Clarksdale Habitat dorm. The front living room was devoid of furniture, white paint peeling off the walls. Z-Balls was in his bedroom watching Smack Down on an old tv getting bad reception. He looked depressed.

It turns out being in the Vice Lords is not enough to stop your mamma from taking the furniture and running out with a 20 year old. It seems that having street cred in a place like Clarksdale is not enough to stop the creep of desperation. These kids were sad.

Bird showed D the samurai sword he had hustled, we laughed and they asked me if I wanted to buy some reefer. D told them I was "straight up gangster" and "didn't do that shit." I politely declined the offer, and told them to make sure ole Bookie did no smoking while he was down. They agreed.

Then I saw the look in their eyes. The way the looked over Bookie. It was envy, but not in a mean way. He was out. His Dad dead, his mom nominal at best, he had found a way out. Their mom was across town with a kid half her age, and she had left them nothing. Their eyes returned to Smack Down.

D and I walked out. The night was chilly and I told him how sad I felt for these kids. Couldn't they get jobs? Couldn't they go back to school?

"They's smart, but the hood's got em, man. You can feel it. The hood has 'em." He shook his head, watching his feet. "I want to do something, but I just don't know what I can do." We walked on in silence.

I used to walk in on my mother drunk almost every night. Sometimes we would fight, other times cry. A lot of nights I just stormed into my room, closed the door and escaped. Occasionally, in the mornings, I would try to talk sense to her. You know the routine: "you've gotta stop drinking," etc. The bills would pile up, the floor would rarely be washed. The paint would start to peel. There was a tangible sense of desperation in our house, and you could cut it with a knife. My mom was scared of the future, and so was I.

It's been a long time since I felt that fear. The Lord has been good to me, and I have walked away from the desperation of poverty and substance abuse. This Spring Break, Bookie reminded me what it's all about. When everything's broken, you're reminded that control is fleeting, at best.