Welcome to a new summer series where, I, your local cartoonist, will visit various spots in Hudson County to capture everyday life in a single sketchbook page.

On Wednesday, I attended my first Jersey City Council meeting. Sketchbook and pencil in hand, I took a seat and listened in.

The first hour was business as usual with an occasional complaint or two from the City Clerk that desk council members’ mics were turned off — producing a few blank stares. When the meeting was thrown into a public forum, things started to get interesting.

One at a time, residents stepped up to the podium. It was a picture-perfect scene of our democracy at work: constituents walking up one by one to voice individual concerns, comments and criticisms to their elected officials.

As speakers came and went, the council seemed to drift off as the hour progressed, some looking down at imaginary papers, some glancing up at the ceiling. When the City Clerk (who ran the show) ushered residents away from the podium with quick thank-yous, some left in loud huffs.

The council members’ faces would light up at even the briefest of compliments, only to dampen when the eventual bits of disapproval started to trickle in.

“Has it been three minutes yet?” was written on more than a few faces up on the dais.

It’s safe to assume that the stunning views and relaxing scenery Liberty State Park provides are why the average person visits.

But if you’re a cartoonist, you come for much more than that.

Sketchbook and pencil at my side, I walk through swaying trees, tall grass, a chorus of helicopters thumping above, sailboats sweeping along the Hudson and a shimmering Manhattan skyline.

And you know what?

The aforementioned sights aren’t even the best part of my journey. It’s the palooza of faces that lay against them that are. They are all unique and, in this hour, all mine.

After a half hour, I settle down on a bench next to the historic Central Railroad Terminal. It’s time to get to work.

Within a minute, a testy young man with a jutting chin and an elderly beagle walks briskly past me. I look to the left and there’s a man with rosy cheeks basking in the sun, his thin wisps of hair blowing up in the wind.

And what’s that above me? It looks like a lone mad goose flopping about, desperately looking in every direction for his flock.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a pair of young women strutting along the pavement, their panting wild-eyed poodle pressed against them.

When the hour is up, I have a dozen or so new faces scattered on the page.

It was a cloudy, humid Saturday morning when I visited Historic Jersey City & Harsimus Cemetery last weekend.

I had never heard of a cemetery (or any place that is not a farm) that utilizes goat lawn mowing services. But when I looked into it, it sounded too good not to make a trip.

Sketchbook in hand, I walked up the steep hill toward a gate enclosure to leave city life behind for just a while. As if on cue, I was promptly greeted with a loud “Bah!” from a lady sheep.

While the goats and sheep were quite absorbed by their peculiar visitor (me), their attention was equally occupied by another commotion. Not a quarter of a mile down the hill, the folks working the annual music festival Goatchella were setting up musical instruments, tents and tables.

One goat looked as if the prospect of another night of music and fun was putting a damper on his day. He was all partied out and just wanted to munch on his grass in peace.

To the left of him lay a heat-stricken, slack-jawed goat. If goats could speak English, this one would have been saying (or yelling), “Can’t a goat get any sleep in this place?”

As I finished drawing the abundance of delightful greenery behind them, I heard a voice yell from down the hill. It was a hot dog vendor alerting me to the fact that my car was occupying his parking lot space.

Gathering up my pencils and markers, I gave a quick wave to the goats and sheep (they did not wave back) and hurried to my car.

On Wednesday, I attended the Hoboken City Council meeting. After driving through a flood of distracted e-bike drivers, I finally found a parking spot. Grabbing my sketchbook from the backseat, I hopped out of my car and ran up the block to City Hall.

The first order of business for the council? Discussing and voting on the 2024 city budget. I knew this was going to be good.

After a short public speaking session, Councilman Michael Russo launched into a vigorous speech on the proposed budget. His eyes bulged and his hands waved up and down and back and forth as he moved through his points. My pencil couldn’t move fast enough to capture it all.

Directly across the table, slouching in his chair, was Councilman Phil Cohen. A light smirk began consuming his face. He was clearly in disagreement.

Not 15 minutes later, a tit-for-tat between the two men proceeded as Council President Jennifer Giattino, directly in the middle, worked to take control of the room. Head shaking, a nervous fumbling of papers and finger tapping by the other council members took place as the commotion played out.

Predictably, emphatic votes of “No” followed with the budget failing to pass by a vote of 7-2.

It’s a humid July morning in Journal Square. Streaks of sunlight are piercing gray clouds as they pass overhead. Scattered flocks of pigeons briskly fly overhead to avoid the relentless heat.

Below all this lies a city in full motion.

A heavy traffic of cars, trucks and e-bikes greets me. A chorus of car horns and slices of casual street conversation muffle my radio tunes as I look for parking.

Here and there, I lean in to look up at the buildings I’m passing by. Bright red scaffolding is hugging their sides. Construction crews line the curbs with shovels. Light plumes of smoke and steam billow out tunnels and chimneys nearby.

At a red light, I notice a young man in a white button-up crossing the street swaying his arms back and forth while babbling to himself. A nurse looks on in confusion, taking a precautionary step back.

Soon, I’m moving through the crowds – sketchbook at my side. A jumble of faces passes behind and in front of me as I sketch furiously to capture it all. Some duck into a corner store while others park themselves underneath a tree. Looking to avoid the heat, no doubt.

Or are they perhaps looking to avoid that age-old, small-talk question: “Hot enough for you?”

Racing past me, I catch a glimpse of a wild-eyed, ponytailed man on a rental bike. Not far down the road, there’s a parking attendant sweating through his uniform.

Sprinkled in between all this, morning joggers pursue their routes as police officers look on. Perhaps the officers are a bit dumbfounded as to why anyone would be jogging in this heat.

Any old infrastructure project? Boring.

The New Jersey Turnpike Extension widening project? Anything but.

The project, aimed to reduce heavy Turnpike traffic by adding lanes along the Hudson County Turnpike Extension from Newark’s Interchange 14 to Columbus Drive in Jersey City – but not all the way to the Holland Tunnel – has proponents and opponents engaged in heated public forums, sparring over the effectiveness of the projected $11 billion project.

To see what all of the hubbub is about, I decided to drive up and get a taste of rush-hour traffic on the Turnpike and in the Holland Tunnel.

With a full tank of gas and my nifty GPS at hand, I set off. Here’s my experience:

Last Saturday, I attended the All About Downtown Street Fair in Jersey City.

Heading there, my eyes widened as I spotted that single vacant parking spot. All but screeching my brakes in the process, I quickly pulled in. Grabbing my camera from the backseat, I thought to myself: “Now, where was that fair taking place again?”

But there was no need for a cold, impersonal GPS to answer that question.

I had only to follow the faint sound of a boombox-blasting party music in the distance. As the tunes became louder, my feet moved faster toward it.

Minutes later, I turned the corner and caught the charming sight of fake palm trees and the smell of tasty BBQ. I knew I had reached my destination.

Grabbing the ol’ sketchbook from the dashboard, I put my car in park and head for 14th Street in Hoboken. How does a newcomer like me find the Viaduct, you might ask? It’s easy. Just follow the sound of blaring holiday Muzak and community cheer.

Paintings, ugly Christmas sweaters, candles, cards, vinegar and bread fill the tables I pass at the Main Street Pops pop-up Holiday Market under the busy elevated roadway. Cars driving overhead make loud sales pitches sound like whispers.

A big mustached man in a Santa hat stands idly in a sea of empty boxes as his wife mans their table. Off to the side, a rosy-cheeked honey jar salesman greets each customer with a smile.

One by one, an assortment of dogs in festive sweaters strut by. Their noses point to the aroma of baked goods from food trucks. Christmas trees lay against a brick wall as two life-size Nutcracker statues stand guard.

Construction cones and crumb-mad pigeons crowd a street I cross. Just on the other side, an intense game of paddle ball between teenagers takes place as nearby merchants duck for cover.