Arthur Brisbane Child Treatment Center - Abandoned New Jersey

    It was a particularly hot and humid afternoon for being only mid-May. After a relatively uneventful morning spent having brunch with our families, my day took a rather unexpected turn. "It's right on the way home, see?", but he didn't even have to bother with the semantics as I knew the drill. Even early on I had begun to realize there was no point in arguing, and that it was easier to just go along with things for the sake of my sanity. I had begun to feel more like a frustrated single mother to an unruly child more than anything else.

   So here we were, dressed in our Sunday's best, quite literally, trudging through the swamps of Allaire State Forest. Every few feet I'd have to call ahead for him to slow down as my flats had been suctioned off by the mud yet again. A handful of mosquito bites and sticker-bush injuries later, we've finally managed to navigate our way to the backside of Arthur Brisbane's former estate. While not a particularly impressive mansion, at least to me, it still piques my interest. We circle around it a few times to check things out, before wiggling in a window that was left slightly ajar. 

    One thing I was not really expecting of this place was the power to still be on. From the shape of the outside of the buildings, I had assumed this property was long forgotten. However, upon entering, I actually found myself a little bit concerned about tripping some sort of alarm. This nervousness was short-lived, as I decided after walking all that way through the woods, I wasn't leaving without checking this building out. We spent a grand total of many 15 or 20 minutes inside, and I had only come prepared with my iPhone to snap a few photos. Realizing the place was otherwise empty, I quickly lost interest and began pressing that we start heading back to the car before it gets too late.               

    The only thing that took longer than the walk to and from Arthur Brisbane was trying to get all of the stains out of our dress-clothes. Or perhaps realizing that I didn't have to subject myself to babysitting a man-child for the rest of my life. 

        

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