Indigo Incarnates
I was very excited yesterday that the citizens of Baltimore managed to pull together to make our city #1 in something. Alas, my excitement ebbed when I realized that we are now #1 in homocide. Yeah, we beat Detroit. That is no small accomplishment. Apparently the recent batch of shootings pushed us slightly ahead of the Detroit in terms of muders per 100,000 people.
For those of you not familiar with Charm City, lemme tell you what the city is like.
Baltimore is a city with a post-apocalyptic feel. Once upon a time, in the 1980s, the city had nearly a million residents. But then crack cocaine addiction spread through the city like a wildfire ouut of control. People moved out as fast as the U-Hauls could take them. The city government taxed the business to the point that they left the city too. When the jobs left, even more people abandoned the city. So in 2009, we have slightly more than 550,000 people who live here.
The city is falling apart. You can drive through some neighborhoods that are just block after block of empty, boarded-up, crumbling rowhomes. Broken glass hangs from empty window frames like dirty jagged teeth clinging to an ossified skull. Broken glass litters the streets, and the only mystery is which is more plentiful: shattered glass or shattered dreams. But the rats are in ascendency here. they are as large as cats and fear not man nor fire.
During the day, the panhandlers camp out on nearly ever intersection, waving crude cardboard signs that promise God's blessing in exchange for a dollar or two. But by evening, these beggars are passed out on the sidewalks after purchasing their daily dose of opiate poisons that they ram into their veins. They looks flat, like dead birds.
Then, too, you can see the junkie-bums staggering about like zombies. they move slowly, soullessly. Their eyes are sunken and the soul's light is gone from their visage. Toothless prostitutes proffer their shabby wares and curse loudly into dilapidated prepaid cellular phones. They can be seen bedewing the pavement with their coagulated yellow-green spittle.
Most of the businesses are gone. Nobody works. The only stores that remain are liquor/lotto/pawn shops where the denizens of the city trade their welfare pittance for scratch-off chances to lose and for their cheap rotgut.
And the feral teens – they hunt in packs in the twilight. Their social skills are demonstrated through the barrel of the gun. Heroin is the secondary currency of the city. The teens cannot read, but instead only know how to breed. They deal their poisons through the windows of cars with stolen tags and tinted windshields. Rap music blares a staccato beat that threatens to deafen all around. And the playgrounds are always empty. Always.
In spring, it rains a lot. But it never rains heavily enough or long enough to wash away the filth and detritus that clings to everything here. The sun comes out and the rats and beggars return as if nothing had happened..
[ 1 comment ] ( 7 views ) permalink I was very excited yesterday that the citizens of Baltimore managed to pull together to make our city #1 in something. Alas, my excitement ebbed when I realized that we are now #1 in homocide. Yeah, we beat Detroit. That is no small accomplishment. Apparently the recent batch of shootings pushed us slightly ahead of the Detroit in terms of muders per 100,000 people.
For those of you not familiar with Charm City, lemme tell you what the city is like.
Baltimore is a city with a post-apocalyptic feel. Once upon a time, in the 1980s, the city had nearly a million residents. But then crack cocaine addiction spread through the city like a wildfire ouut of control. People moved out as fast as the U-Hauls could take them. The city government taxed the business to the point that they left the city too. When the jobs left, even more people abandoned the city. So in 2009, we have slightly more than 550,000 people who live here.
The city is falling apart. You can drive through some neighborhoods that are just block after block of empty, boarded-up, crumbling rowhomes. Broken glass hangs from empty window frames like dirty jagged teeth clinging to an ossified skull. Broken glass litters the streets, and the only mystery is which is more plentiful: shattered glass or shattered dreams. But the rats are in ascendency here. they are as large as cats and fear not man nor fire.
During the day, the panhandlers camp out on nearly ever intersection, waving crude cardboard signs that promise God's blessing in exchange for a dollar or two. But by evening, these beggars are passed out on the sidewalks after purchasing their daily dose of opiate poisons that they ram into their veins. They looks flat, like dead birds.
Then, too, you can see the junkie-bums staggering about like zombies. they move slowly, soullessly. Their eyes are sunken and the soul's light is gone from their visage. Toothless prostitutes proffer their shabby wares and curse loudly into dilapidated prepaid cellular phones. They can be seen bedewing the pavement with their coagulated yellow-green spittle.
Most of the businesses are gone. Nobody works. The only stores that remain are liquor/lotto/pawn shops where the denizens of the city trade their welfare pittance for scratch-off chances to lose and for their cheap rotgut.
And the feral teens – they hunt in packs in the twilight. Their social skills are demonstrated through the barrel of the gun. Heroin is the secondary currency of the city. The teens cannot read, but instead only know how to breed. They deal their poisons through the windows of cars with stolen tags and tinted windshields. Rap music blares a staccato beat that threatens to deafen all around. And the playgrounds are always empty. Always.
In spring, it rains a lot. But it never rains heavily enough or long enough to wash away the filth and detritus that clings to everything here. The sun comes out and the rats and beggars return as if nothing had happened..
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