Trenton Makes, the World T_kes...
I spent yesterday evening speeding through New Jersey in a germ-infested commuter train, sandwiched between two men sneezing their brains out, hacking up their lungs, hacking up bacteria, phlegm, viruses and snot. Booming, atomic coughs and not one covered their mouth. The people of New Jersey are filthy.
The bridge that leads to Trenton, the capital of the state of New Jersey, reads in neon: Trenton Makes, the World Takes. It’s a statement even a first-year psych student would immediately recognize as Narcissistic Personality Disorder (DSM IV-R), and that might explain why half of the time the sign reads TRENT N KES, THE W RLD T KES, or some other permutation of burnt-out letters. The rest of the city looks the same — the grandest Victorian homes you’d ever want to see shot to shit and teeming with crackheads and termites (who have more in common than you’d think — both types of pest are known for their their fondness of filth, destructive nature and resilience. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me to one day find out that crackheads, like cockroaches, are capable of surviving nuclear attack.).
The train station, which is the reason I find my self in Trenton now and then, has been in all manner of ruin since I started coming here as a kid. It’s a menagerie of bums of all stripes, panhandlers, junkies and hobos. The station itself, is covered in plywood panels painted by children.
For a city built with a me-against-the-world attitude like that, I guess they asked for it.
Post a Comment