They call New Jersey "The Garden State". Others have some choice nicknames for this oft ragged-upon melting-pot, and I call it home.
The irony of "The Garden State" is the outsider's perception, which tends to stray far from the lush green fertile lands the title implies. I'm told the state does output a noteworthy volume of produce, and I know there are some rural spans, but really... that sort of thing isn't going on where I live. The scene by me is a dense suburban commercial haven, a destination for shoppers and restaurant-goers while home to thousands of New York City commuters.
Our commuters traverse a complex system of highways, bridges, and tunnels through our beautiful marshlands, scenic woodlands, and a mechanized industrial utopia. The central pipeline for the commuters' carnival? That, my friends, is a 122 mile stretch of rubber-scorched asphalt called the New Jersey Turnpike.
Honoring our great home state, Flying Fish, New Jersey's largest craft brewer, offers the "Exit Series", each named after a different exit on the Turnpike.
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