Dear Brown’s Arcade,

You have always carried history in your bones, but last year, the city shook, and so did you. The blast rattled your windows, cracked your bricks, and left scars that still linger. For a moment, it felt like time might finally take you. But you are still here. You’ve weathered more than a century of change, standing quietly on Charles Street as the city has grown, stumbled, and risen again. And now, even in your wounded state, you endure.

Your storefronts remain, your businesses press on, your skylight still catches the shifting light. Though dust has settled in new corners, life still moves through your hallways—shopkeepers unlocking their doors, visitors pausing under your arched entryway, the echoes of footsteps carrying on as they always have. Inside, small businesses carry on the work of keeping you alive — books line your halls, beauty and craftsmanship thrive behind unassuming doors, and the scent of something familiar and warm still drifts through your passageway. You are not as you once were, but you are still standing. And in a city that knows struggle, that means something.

Oh, Brown’s Arcade, may your walls hold strong, may your corridors find their rhythm again, and may Baltimore never forget that even in moments of destruction, there is always something worth saving.

Love,
A friend who still walks your halls