Trenton

I arrived in Trenton, New Jersey at approximately 8:15, p.m. EDT. Now, even though I've grown up, and spent my entire adult life in New York, I've never been to Trenton...at least, not that I know of. It's entirely possible that when I was younger I erased the entire awful experience from my memory...but I doubt it.
So I step off the train; my ride, regrettably late; and begin to soak in the entire scene. The first thing I notice is what appears to be a great deal of people who all seem to be out of place. There appears to be family from one of the "I don't know states" Idaho, Indiana, Iowa...or I don't give a damn, wandering around while the son asks plaintive questions about how often and how late the trains run while the daughters look slightly too long at anyone with a skin pigment just a little darker than their Midwestern Sun-Aversion tans.
Once outside, I begin to cast about for what to do. My lady friend is going to be late in picking me up, which in most cases might have upset me a bit but under these unique circumstances, I'd rather soak in the complete and utter weirdness that is Trenton. I'd rather watch the father walk around with his (what looks to be) 14 year old daughter in pants tight enough to make R Kelly think twice, while he talks about, "missing the 7:15," while I think to myself, "dude, your daughter looks like a reject from Laguna Beach and you could possibly be her pimp and you're talking about missing a train that left this station an hour before I got here...what the fuck?"
I'm happy standing outside, smoking a cigarette, sending the rare text message while a possible crackhead/homeless man/junkie/lost Princeton student shuffles down this alley way (like the one outside Yankee Stadium that leads to parking, except much less sketchy and without those feelings of I might get raped by a one eyed man with a monkey and a three legged-dog) and this girl, again completely out of place, not asking, but telling me she's going to stand next to me until he recesses into the folds of the darkness.
I'm happy sitting inside, talking about the shitty day I've had with a friend of mine while a girl with a skirt no bigger than a Skittles wrapper asks a New Jersey Transit Police Officer a seemingly obvious question about the Departure Screen.
I'm especially happy when my call is interrupted and I'm saved from this anachronistic hell, this depressed dungeon of depravity, this just absolutely awful town or city or whatever it wants to be depressing the hell out of me.