On my drive in the car from the Walter's Art Gallery, I see a lot more things that disturb me. I feel unsafe. There are boarded up houses on certain blocks with no people walking the streets. There are liquor stores on the corners of the street. The windows are barred and I wonder what it is like to live in the neighborhood. We get to the French restaurant by the waterside that I always forget the name of. It is nice inside but as I look across the water, I see the church steeples and run down houses on the other side of the community. I begin to realize that this is a part of the city where the income disparity between rich and poor is visibly noticeable. Fells Point is known for its restaurants but there are many things that are overlooked in the community behind the waterfront real estate. The condos on the water cost a pretty penny but if I walk further away from the waterfront and back into the city, I notice that people are barely living on pennies trying to survive. I begin to understand what I saw in the old man's eyes. I see he has stopped speaking out because no one is listening. Sometimes silence is better than words. As I sip my tea, I have no heart to bring up the conversation with my mom.


The overwhelming thought in my mind is trying to figure out how I can go on sipping my tea when so much around me is out of order.