Lamont, Squirt and Cerj -- young African American men in their early twenties -- feel no progress in their lives, even though they all now have jobs, a change in status from four or five years ago. Charles Jones is a 22-year-old father of two who writes for YO! Youth Outlook, a monthly newspaper by and about young people published by PNS. One in a series of commentaries by writers in their teens and early twenties looking at America's political landscape at the end of the century.

SAN FRANCISCO -- Sometimes I feel like an amputee's discarded hand. And let me tell you, the absence pains are far greater on this side of the knife. Almost daily, I look at the world around me like it's some kind of mist or fog, like all the smiles and new money cloud my vision as to what's really going on.

Yes, America is in a labor boom and joblessness has dropped, but to what avail? Watching the news, it's apparent that the people who weren't working three years ago are working now, but are no closer to happiness.

"I feel like an unfit father," exclaims Lamont, 20, a recent Louisiana transplant. "Me and my girl both have full-time jobs. But we're still in a homeless shelter and our six-month-old daughter is staying with friends."

Conversating with a friend of mine, "Squirt," this story is all too common. He says he's been working steadily for six months but has to "hussle on the side" to maintain his Tenderloin hotel room. When I ask what he means by "hussle" he gives me a you-know-but-you-don't-wanna-hear-me-say-it look and ignores the question. "I been knowin' you for years, you've been where I am," he confides.

His words ring true. I'm almost where he is at the present. Not just financially but mentally. I mean, as a full time employee, Squirt is fodder for "America is thriving" statistics. But job or no job, he's been starving for years, and doesn't see this great economic boom everyone's talking about.

Squirt has an explanation for the misconception. "See, say it's a million people like me, working but broke -- but we all pay taxes. So America gets all this tax money and figures that if we making this much more in taxes 'cause this many more people got jobs now, then it must be, like, trickling down."

Before I can chime in with some Reagan joke, his tone becomes serious. "Man, I'm tired of living like this," he snarls. "It's like I'm never gonna be able to buy a house or even rent a decent apartment or, you know, be successful in life."

He calms down with his last sentence.

"That's why I'm so proud of you, blood. You got out."

At that time a man who looks like life has handed him several severe beatings taps Squirt on the shoulder and asks about what he calls "solids." Squirt hugs me and says, "I gotta bounce."

As I watch him walk away (mostly watching his back for police), I realize I dare not share my own feelings of disenchantment, the feeling that I, too, am left out of the American success equation. The feeling that despite my journalistic ventures, I'm still just another so-called reformed thug two steps from the streets I came from, that that's where I belong, and that my woman, children and people I know, like Squirt, are my only motivation for even trying.

I feel no progress. I'm not the only one either. Myself and many like me are trying to give identity and worth to the working poor -- trying to provide positive examples of what hard work can bring while taking home scraps.

Clearly we're missing out on something and it shouldn't be this way.