“I’ve been coming to Baltimore for a while now and it always had a certain energy that reminded me of the south with a Philly or New York edge. You literally have one side of the street that is okay and the other side is a trap. But it’s different now, more different in a way than it was when I came down for the Purge. There is nobody out. There are more zeek bars on windows than there are people on the street. No one is smoking outside the bar—no hipsters walking the street, just deliverymen and hoodrats. Yet it’s the same place, like the calm before a storm, like a horror movie when the fog rolls in.

“Look at us. We went out and got drunk, breaking curfew on purpose when it went down. But now, it’s too risky to walk the streets at night, so we sit in your room and drink. This must be affecting businesses to, in a big way.”

-Mescaline Franklin, February 25, 2016

Not having patronized many businesses in the area, particularly at night, since last year’s hoodrat uprising, I decided to head out for a couple beers this past Saturday evening, not too late, but just as night fell, which is when the highest traffic is and when the criminals start to get set up for their business, whether selling, stealing, redistributing or patiently waiting.

The weather was mild.

There was one new upscale eatery, well attended.

This is the pattern in Baltimore, as the working class and poor whites are hunted by government-subsidized blacks, wealthy whites move in and enjoy. Eventually these are picked off, but at a much slower rate, especially since they drive into the area, not risking being caught on foot heading off the main street.

The Hamilton Tavern had slim attendance, half of normal—perhaps due to the new dinner competition four doors down.

The mixed-race sports bar had low attendance and very little socializing outside.

The Pakistani convenience store owner has cut his hours back and is closing after the dinner rush.

Inchon John has sold his liquor store to a Pakistani, who is now running it with increased security.

The newsstand is now behind bullet proof glass.

The pawnshop door is locked. They must buzz you in.

Most ominously, I walk into the Rite Aid drug store, the size of a 1970s supermarket. These outlets are owned by a wholesaler as are most supermarket chains, with inventory literally pushed down their throats. Rite Aid has always maintained a high inventory level. I was greeted by a big man wearing a security t-shirt and playing Nerf football in the spacious area once occupied by displays. The display inventory is at 10% of normal, with the shelf inventory at 25%. Whoever runs Rite Aid has determined that there will be more unrest in this area.

The pharmacy—which is the reason for this establishment—is closed at 6 p.m., and is secured behind internal iron mesh cages.

On my way home, two full-grown hoodrats with hooded coats and ski masks were coming toward the main street down Bayonne, carrying skateboards, turning right behind me on Harford Road. Curiously, they do not use the skateboards, even coming down hill and on smooth asphalt. They are too fat to be skateboarders. It is now increasingly common to see black youths and men carrying, but not riding, skateboards. When you go to the VU skateboard shop up the street you see mostly white boys there, generally riding and not carrying their boards. These are weapons for attacks on palefaces and for breaking into vehicles and buildings.

They follow me.

I step aside to the trash can in front of the Big Bad Wolf eatery, the lid of which is held down by a half a cinder block.

They slow down and look at me, look at each other, and walk on. I do not head up toward my side street until they have passed it.