Warning: Satirical Content
Traveling from New York City to Philadelphia, I had to pass through a land so vile that the U.S. government categorizes it as “Level 4: DO NOT TRAVEL”. The disease of “wannabenewyorkeritis” runs rampant. The local “government” (which expensed their coup through unethical property taxes) urges visitors to keep a distance from the locals. Vaccination for the disease is effective for 10 days, longer than anyone should be in the state.
There are only three modes of travel: car (in which you must complete the journey in one day or the highway dwellers will sell your organs), train (if you are not in first class, commuters will make your ears bleed profusely), or by foot (fatality rate: 100%). With my first class ticket in hand, I braced myself for the journey.
In the first city, Newark, I witnessed my hotel receptionist get robbed for $39. There was a bomb threat 20 minutes after I checked in. In the adjacent motel, a 20-year-old woman cat-called and followed me, saying she would pay $10 for it. By the time I closed the door, I called 9-11, the responder answered, “Bruh, ts pmo, just close the door before I get the cops there for wasting my time.” The next morning, the man in the room next door barged into my room for his needles. In less than an hour, I caught the next train to New Brunswick. When transferring platforms, I saw the same guy from the motel selling my socks.
Then in New Brunswick, local students booked the rest of the first floor. I slept through a siren caused by two hazing policy violations, but was jolted awake by the blaring, preset news alarm.
I walked into a breakfast cafe, fully staffed by students, waiting 90 minutes to get a table. At the end of the meal, (the smoothie had spit and the pancakes were grey) my fugly waiter asked for a 40% tip, which is standard. After paying my bill, I headed to my ultimate destination, Camden.
As soon as I exited the despondent platform, a fat bags addict shanked me, and a penniless 7-year-old from under a bridge instinctively called the cops. The child exclaimed, “Ugh, the fourth time this month!” The felon ran off with my tattered suitcase (which resembled his dealer’s), and threatened the other unhoused mendicants. Inside the ambulance, the underpaid emergency responders remarked, “New Englander thinks he can go through Trenton…” My consciousness fades out, but I then hear the driver respond, “With traffic we might get there in four-ish hours-” “Might as well pull his plug now!”
The men fade out. I see the light shine down on my hands and a burden released from my soul, the burden of stepping foot in New Jersey. I crossed into a luminescence, which I mistook for heaven; I rejoiced when I found out it was better, it was Philadelphia.
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