Between Brooklyn, New Jersey and a Hard Place

I wish I had a time machine... No, not a time machine, something that'll like, zap me in another part of New York without me having to wait 20 minutes for my bus on the grassy knoll by the curb. Without having to get crabby with the fat black man who drives the bus for being late. Without having to sit in traffic in the bus on the GW Bridge. No surpassing the homeless man who plays the sax in the tunnel, not to mention me feeling guilty for not giving him a quarter. (Where's my quarter?! Get a job!) No being afraid for my life in the 175th St. Harlem subway station b/c it's rumored to be the station where the most people get pushed onto the tracks in front of moving trains. (I really don't fear for my life, but I've heard that rumor.) No sitting on the A Train then transferring at crotchety Times Square to the Q Train only to hear that annoying man who sells batteries (AA or AAA real Duracell batteries $2, AA or AAA real...)

You know what I'd like to be doing right this very minute? I'd like to be on the treadmill at Bally's. Rarely do I look forward to working out, but right now that's what I'd like to be doing and I'm stuck at work, about to leave for that grassy knoll. To go on my two-hour commute. I hate my commute.