#northcharles

Red Emma’s, with its repurposed break-proof glass-topped tables, predominantly vegan menu, and handled mason jar mugs possesses all of the finest hallmarks of gentrification. As attractive, alluring, and air-conditioned as the café is, it is easy to forget the city that exists beyond its walls. Pushing past its heavy doors, Baltimore envelops you in her warm, sticky embrace, making shirts cling to backs and sweat bead on foreheads.

Traffic flows by relentlessly, with cars and people proceeding onto their destinations. The vehicles are the same as they are anywhere else; it is the people that distinguish this corridor of the city. Baltimoreans trickle past, representative of all walks of life. Popsicles seem to be the hottest accessory of the season, popular across generations and in a rainbow of colors. Their owners stop to observe the group of students clustered awkwardly in the middle of the sidewalk, who themselves are awkwardly aware of the attention that they are attracting and how they are hindering pedestrian movement.

Still, they do not linger long; the piercing stares of the police territorially guarding the corner do not promote a comfortable atmosphere. They dominate the space, with their relaxed postures and loud, nonchalant conversation, complemented by the subconscious patting of the weapons on display at their hips. A woman who works at Red Emma’s timidly approaches the largest one, who leans languidly against a parking meter. He refuses to move his arm so that she can pay freely, watching her as she feeds her coins into the machine.

The presence of law enforcement, regardless of being a blatant show of power to discourage potential wrongdoers, does little to interrupt the habits of the locals. They march on and pay them no mind, a permanent fixture of the scenery. They position themselves right next to them on the corner, and soon their words and laughter drown out those of the police.

Coupled with conversation, the noises of vehicles and machinery dominate the soundscape of North Charles, and yet individuals take it upon themselves to create their own soundtracks. Music blares from countless personal speakers held in hands and carried in pockets, melding together to create a unique audio backdrop for the urban environment. The music moves as the people move, making the spaces even more transient.

No one seems to stay in one space for very long, and yet they are in no particular hurry. The only places that host people for extended periods of time are the stoops of the row houses; people just sit and watch life crawl by, surveying the street like a monarch from his throne. They provide a platform for interactions, a breeding ground for discourse and the ensuing vibrancy.

West North Avenue, the street on which Red Emma’s is located, is lined on either side by row houses, their eyes obscured by thick strips of plywood. There are brief breaks in between them, where government buildings grandly stand, startlingly white and well maintained, a stark contrast to the colorful graffiti that adorns the abandoned homes.

In front of the stately Baltimore Public Schools Building, shouts of “water, two for a dollar!” join with the humming of the automobiles making their way down the street, evoking images of “Bubbles’ Depo” in The Wire. A block over, all images of government influence disappear, replaced once again by row houses that have become synonymous with images of Baltimore.