ST. PETERSBURG — It’s late afternoon on a Friday and Kenyatta Rucker is sitting on a bench on 21st Street S, talking to a man who’s calling from jail. She’s three blocks from the house where she grew up. Behind her is a single-story building. It’s painted black, with four lime green doors. The door to her right leads to a salon that offers nail and facial services. To her left is the entrance to a bail bonds office — the place people call for help on their worst day. Both businesses belong to her. In her mind, this makes a certain kind of sense. Both are a product of…