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I’ve lived in or around Baltimore, MD, for most of my life, except for 2 years in Chapel Hill, NC, when Bear was a wee babe.
I love Baltimore. It’s diverse, sometimes bizarre, often dirty or dilapidated, and it’s damn interesting. I love the people on the sidewalk at 3:45 am on a Tuesday. I love the grimy panhandlers accosting me at every streetlight–hell, I used to know some of them pretty well. I love the way you can feel the life throbbing through the streets. I love the neighborhood grocery stores and corner bars that have no problem with you paying for a half-pint of rotgut vodka and a pack of generic smokes with dimes, nickels, and/or pennies. I love the smell of the Harbor, an olfactory punch in the gut. I love how you can go from ghetto to tourist area to working poor in a few blocks.
There’s nothing pretentious about Baltimore. It doesn’t (despite attempts from the City Council) pretend to be something it’s not. It’s real. And I miss it.