I imagine if it was real, all of Baltimore could hear it playing "Big City Nights" by the Scorpians.The sounds of the city create a symphony. The soprano squawks of seagulls, saxophones that compliment the deep sounds from ships in the harbor- a long, drawn out stroke upon the thickest string on the cello. People chat and laugh with various voices- flutes and French horns, clarinets and trumpets. Cars creep along Pratt Street and honk in F major. The crack of the bat at Camden Yards, the roars, cheers and chants; high hats, timpanis, cymbals, and bass. An orchestra led by a grand conductor, larger than life, Liberace perhaps, as tall as Godzilla, smiling down, in a dazzling suit, holding his rhinestone baton.Baltimore. A kaleidoscope of cultures. Where a senator sips Dom Perignon in front of a grand fire as a beggar shivers outside her door and scrapes change for a beer. Where your mailman speaks Chinese and your trashman speaks German. Where, in front of the Havannah Club, men in three piece suits and slicked-back hair open doors for elegant Hispanic ladies dressed to swing to the sounds of salsa. Where one block over, steroid junkies, not easily swayed by a pretty smile, sternly guard doors that seep rhythmic sounds of techno at the Baja Beach Club. Where athletes break records and musicians make them. Where poets write verses and yuppies buy them. A medley of shapes, sizes, creeds and colors. Moving about, this way and that, unsettling, ever-changing. My new apartment is in Fell's Point. A quaint area located in Southeast Baltimore. Its streets have seen triumph and tragedy. First established in 1763 by Colonel Edward Fell's, the port welcomed slave ships; kidnapped African Americans were sold at auction downtown. But, it was also home to many free black workers, including Anna Murray, the woman who assisted in the escape of Frederick Douglas and later married him. My place rests along Bond Street, named after...
