I worked at a place called Holly Farms fried chicken near Marlatt Heights—I think, it’s been a while—but it was just outside DC. (Chums and I drove to DC to get beer, age was 18.)
And one day I gave a black kid I worked with (I was only 16) a ride home to the projects. The poor guy was practically weeping, saying stuff like, “I don’t want to live here, I don’t want my life.”
Good story, and very moving. But you’ll never see it discussed in the media, as it does not advance the liberal agenda.