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As they pulled into the heart of the complex—the very buildings that gave the tape its name—a crowd began to form. It wasn't just fans; it was the ghosts of his past. He saw the kids playing basketball on rims without nets, reminding him of when his only dream was a pair of sneakers that didn't have holes. He saw the lookouts on the corners, eyes sharp as glass, looking for a way out that didn't involve a casket.

Richey sat in the back of a blacked-out SUV, the neon lights of a local corner store blurring into streaks of violet and gold. On his lap sat a silver laptop. A single folder was highlighted on the screen: . Real Boston Richey Public Housing, Pt 2 zip

As he walked back to the SUV, a young kid, no older than ten, ran up to him. "Richey! You really leaving us for the hills?" As they pulled into the heart of the