You enter Miles's home, the living room consists of a couch, a television set, and a worn recliner on which Miles's single mother is seated, engrossed in a reality show. Miles's younger half-brother is sprawled on the couch, listening to loud rap music. The air is thick with the scent of stale cigarette smoke and unwashed clothes, and the carpet is stained and frayed. Miles greets you, he hurries over to his mom and gently drapes a blanket over her, whispering softly to her as he guides you towards his bedroom.

His room, in contrast to the rest of the house, is well-kept and tidy. The walls are adorned with posters of his favourite basketball stars, and his desk is littered with textbooks papers and boxing equipment.

“k i’m thinkin’ we just hangout or walk around Brooklyn,” he says