The End of the Line: A Satire of the High Line

It was just an ordinary day.  I was taking a stroll through New York City when I came across an entrance to the High Line.  I had heard about the High Line in the media and from my friends, but I had never actually been there before.  As I passed by the entrance on 14^th Street, I decided that I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.  Everyone always talked about the beauty and the peacefulness found atop the heavenly High Line.  It was my turn to experience it.  I walked up the stairs and I thought to myself “Wow! This is really –!”  I hit the ground like a ton of bricks.  A German tourist (I know this because he was speaking German and holding a map of New York – and no self-respecting New Yorker needs a map of New York) walked into me like he was Secret Service and I was John Wilkes Booth.  As I’m recovering, standing up from being knocked down, he didn’t even stop to apologize for nearly knocking me into a coma.  But I just shrugged it off and kept walking along the High Line.  One can say the High Line is like a pinball machine.  As I walked, I was getting knocked around like a human pinball, one person smacked me into another, and he smacked me into a third, and so on.  I now had a splitting headache and I saw the exit stairs.  I was so thrilled as I walked toward them.  Then, all of a sudden, a group of about 100 speed walkers walked into me from behind like a stampede and carried me like a wave all the way past the exit stairs.  Now I’m enraged and I begin to run to reach the next exit, when I see a bunch of children playing in the grass.  This seemed genuinely peaceful, like a scene from a movie.  Some of the children were playing by the edge of the High Line, when I began to think to myself, “Huh? The rails are pretty low; the Park’s Department should –!”  One by one, the children started climbing over the edge of the rail, plummeting down to the ground below them.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  I started running again for the next exit when I saw what I feared the most.  Walking towards me was a group of yuppie Manhattanites, with their bow ties and top hats, walking sticks and tuxedo tails, and like always not a care in the world and a complete disregard towards others.  I soon found myself on the ground once again, now being trampled by the next hindrance on the High Line.  When they finally walked past me, I got myself up, brushed myself off, and ran for the exit.  I could see it … it was so close.  Right at the top of the exit stairway, there were a group of pirates!  That’s right, pirates.  I figured that they were pretty harmless, when all of a sudden, a guy walked by and one of the pirates shanked him in the back.  As the pirates started to walk down the stairs, I ran by again hoping that the next exit would be close by.  I ran, bruised, bleeding, and concussed.  I ran, and I ran, as fast as I could.  I hit a fence.  I turned around and I saw it.  I was so proud of myself.  I had made it to the end of the line.