“The streets that Balboa walked were his own private ocean, and Balboa was drowning.” That’s the whole of a miniature short story by the Pulitzer-winning African-American playwright August Wilson — and it captures the mood of this searing everyday tragedy. Almost all the characters are drowning, from the titular ex-con (Aaron Pierre), who yearns to make something of his life, to his world- weary mum (Martina Laird), to her sometime beau (Lenny Henry), a trickster running out of tricks. As they meet behind a clapboard Pittsburgh home, and swap insults and stories, some of the turns are strong. Yet in Nadia Fall’s slow, so-so revival, they rarely connect. There’s little sense these characters know, let alone love, one another. The best exception comes in a spontaneous embrace between King and his best friend, Mister, before they attempt a robbery. These two are among the evening’s highlights in the way they watch, and watch out for, each other — along with Wilson’s pulsing vernacular, which sweeps from poetic to profane. As one character observes: “God’s a bad motherf*****!” It’s a good point, and it’s well, if lengthily, made.