A faded sign from the 1920s remembers Baltimore's resistance toward banning alcohol.

A 200-year-old bar with a cheeky name claims to have served Edgar Allan Poe his final drink.

Wedged between two sets of row houses is an awkwardly located family graveyard.

This bug-eyed water wheel uses the power of the Sun to clean up Baltimore Harbor.

An abandoned church gets a second life as a massive beer hall and event space.

The site where Poe "in great distress, and ... in need of immediate assistance" likely died.

Once a thriving business district, this former shopping area is now an urban ghost town in the heart of the city.

Once America's tallest structure, now a Baltimore landmark.

One artist’s scheme to expand museum viewing hours into the evening led to the illumination of an entire city.

Baltimore's first skyscraper may be home to the inspiration behind pulp fiction's most celebrated bird.

Baltimore's classic clock tower was once topped by a rotating, 20-ton medicine bottle.

The childhood home of the Sultan of Swat is just a line drive away from Oriole Park at Camden Yards.

One of the oldest anatomical theaters in the U.S. still in use was once the site of an infamous cadaver riot.

The trials and tribulations of marking Poe's grave.

The design of this historic domed church was influenced by Thomas Jefferson and intended as a statement of religious freedom.

A monumental statue of RCA's mascot now sits atop a historical society roof after a life of moving around.

This simple convenience store sits on the location where the Ouija board was named—and has a plaque to prove it.

It's not hard to see why the historic Peabody Conservatory of Music's library has been described as a "cathedral of books."

At this former Prohibition speakeasy, electric birds signaled the arrival of hooch.

A hidden alley in urban Baltimore is a haven for graffiti artists.

A blank headstone topped with a pile of pennies marks the final resting place of the infamous assassin.

This free, take-a-book shop seems like a trick but isn't.

This lovely tree was a thank you gift from the man known as "Public Enemy No.1."

This beloved Baltimore spot features caged dolls, a giant Pez collection, and many, many mannequins.