A favor for a serious photographer
January 30, 2005So I’m back in town today. Back in the District. And more importantly, in my own bed. It feels nice after quite some time in Harrisburg. The family was mostly good, some had the flu, but by and large things were well. I got to see a lot of familiar faces. But I really hate that place. The place called Pennsylvania.
What I hate is related more to the location and the people than anything else. Central Pennsylvania (CentPenn®, not to be confused with CentCom which is in Tampa, Florida) is a god awful kind of place. A coalition of farm towns really. One after another, after another, after another — collectively known as CentPenn®.
The streets are small and the trucks are big. And don’t get in the way of Johnny making tracks to the Red Lobster after work, let me tell you. Come 1630, the locks of hell open as people break free from the bondage of work. The population of CentPenn® is on the move. They herd down past the Sunoco, and the Walgreen’s, taking a left at the Rite Aide, ‘till they find themselves the slop they seek in the bistros of beans and rice.
OK, I’m going to stop now.
Radio static: CentPenn® is a great place, let me tell you. The grass is green and the girls are pretty. They’ve got all kinds of entertainment, and places to be. So grab the folks and come on down!
(Editor’s note: I’d like to apologize for the disparaging comments displayed above. To post was stupid, I know better than that. Half my very attractive readership hails from some part of that lovely state. And for this, I love you.)