Nineteen years ago I took a series of pictures of a bright and beautiful baby boy, my second nephew, David. He was adorable and very sweet natured and we called him Davey. Over the years he went through a lot of trauma, caused mostly by his parents and their drug habits. Although is father eventually found sobriety, he still struggles with his demons. Davey's mother is still in deep into her addiction. By the time he was eight he was found passed out in his grandmother's garage after huffing gasoline from the lawn mower. As time passed, he stopped smiling and grew to be a very quiet, withdrawn adolescent. His own drug habit grew out of control. His addiction to drugs fueled his negative behavior, and his behavior has landed him in prison after many months of running. His crimes did not physically hurt anyone, but he came so close to doing greivous injury, I know it was equal parts of luck and ineptitude that kept him from being in prison for murder instead of aggravated robbery. My relief to know his running has ended is tempered by the knowledge that he has been sentenced to 14 years, and he is bound to serve a minimum of ten. He will be at least 31 years old when he emerges back into the world as a convicted felon, and he will have spent a third of his life in prison. I can't begin to describe the sense of loss and hopelessness that comes with knowing that he has no one to help him where he is going, and he is ill equipped to help himself. I know his father will do what he can for him while he is in prison. David will also have a job with his father's company when he comes out, as long as he can stay sober. I know he has more to look foward to now than he did while he was out on the street using; it just seems like holding out any hope for him is almost futile, because he is facing such long and precarious journey.