New York City’s immensity is never more apparent than when navigating the thousand-lane road from JFK to Philadelphia, PA on a Saturday afternoon. Twenty-eight years of knowing the Northeast and I’m still shocked to find out that this airport is not, in fact, just across the road from Newark.
“Shit is entrenched,” says Scott.
Once passed the Holland tunnel and ten minutes of marveling at man’s ambition, the road is ours.
It’s good to be back.
At Heathrow, the Brits were on their best behavior, gifting smiles and biscuits.
At JFK, the line-master instructed:
“If ya customs form ain’t finished, get outta the line. Ya wasting peoples time.”
Any other welcome would have been a lie.