Last year, my buddy Jake got his driver’s license, and we decided to cruise NJ’s back roads after a late stream. He wouldn’t stop rambling about the Hookman legend he’d heard since middle school, swearing the trees along Route 537 had shadowy figures lurking. I called him out immediately, wait, no, scratch that, I broke it down logically. No concrete evidence, just secondhand stories. But when a thick branch scraped the roof of his beat-up Civic, he slammed on the brakes so hard we both jolted. Turns out, even someone who prides themselves on avoiding fallacies can jump at NJ’s urban legend vibes when sleep-deprived and behind the wheel.