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About Philadelphia

Alright, listen up, folks! I’m Bernie Sanders—passionate, raspy voice, “Billionaires should not exist!”—and I’m here to talk about somethin’ real, somethin’ gritty, like a beat-up ol’ Ford Escort sittin’ in my garage. Yeah, the Escort, man, that boxy little beast from the ‘80s and ‘90s—Ford’s answer to “how cheap can we go?” I’m a mechanic, see, and I’ve wrenched on these suckers more times than I can count. Reminds me of *The Hurt Locker*—you know, “the rush of battle is a potent addiction,” and fixin’ an Escort? Same damn thing. Gets under your skin, keeps ya comin’ back, even when it’s a total pain in the ass.

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And hey, don't miss The Pacific Electric Trail winding by the river. That path is perfect for a midnight, soul-searching run—if you're into that sorta catharsis. I got mixed up one time, runnin’ after dusk, my mind a jumble of thoughts, and shouted, “Anger, sadness, joy, fear—get it together!” It was epic, man.

When will the 215 Freeway near Perris be repaved?