I was walking near Mount Vernon the other day when a woman approached me and asked, in broken English, how she could “get to the castle.” Knowing that the “state of the Ravens” press conference was starting in a few hours, I told her it was in Owings Mills.
She looked confused.
“The Ravens?” I asked.
She smiled and replied: “Poe, Edgar Allan” and looked at me expectantly.
“No, no,” I said. “Football.”
And she swung her right leg, as if kicking a soccer ball.
I chuckled and figured we’d better go back to square one. “What castle are you looking for?”
She turned and pointed to the “castle” in question—City Jail, just a few blocks away. “How do I get in?” she asked.
“You need to commit a crime,” I replied, and she, once again, looked confused, so I explained that the building in question houses drug dealers, murderers, and the like. “Oh, The Wire!” she exclaimed, before adding that she probably didn’t want to go there after all.
She thanked me and headed in the opposite direction, mumbling something about McNulty.