Bob is feeling kinda bitter today
Black, Dead and Invisible
By BOB HERBERT
I once had a young black girl, whose brother had been murdered, tell me she was too old to dream. She was 12.
I remember a teenager in South-Central Los Angeles a few years ago saying, in a discussion about his peers, "Some of us don't last too long."
Don't bother cueing the violins. This is an old story. There's no shock value and hardly any news value in yet another black or brown kid going down for the count. Burying the young has long since become routine in poor black and Latino neighborhoods. Nobody gets real excited about it. I find that peculiar, but there's a lot about the world that I find peculiar.