Imagine this: The air is as thick as thieves cut by the stench of steam wafting up from rusty manholes. Piles of trash litter the unevenly paved streets, and bars cover every window and door in earnest need of protection. Men and women, all unrecognizable, scatter the sidewalk, slumped over in a heap. Their haunted, hollow eyes follow those who walk past.
Her name is Baltimore (though perhaps it would be more appropriate to call the city a him, as it's named after Lord Baltimore).
Our experience in this city began on a light, almost jovial note, but ended with such an extreme desire to leave, that we laughed at ourselves. As we entered Baltimore, both Jesse and I noted how pretty the city was, and we commented how strange it is that everyone says it's awful. It didn't take more than driving a few more blocks into that beautiful city to realize what they were referring to. Cities have rough edges, I know that. But, Baltimore--OOFTA. The poverty is overwhelming, and whole blocks look like they are literally emitting despair.
After eating a not-so-wonderful dinner, we walked back to our hotel. By the time we strode up to the front door, our topic of conversation had turned to all the reasons why we should purchase a gun to have at home. Perhaps that gives you a better idea of the neighborhoods we were strolling through.
I'd like to add here a sincere note about poverty and social qualms, but instead, I'm just going to say right now, it's good to be home...and we have no guns, for the record.
Jesse's appointment went well. I'll update more later on after I'm caught up at work.
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