Approaching the bridge today in my dinghy, the men were using torches to cut the steel. Sparks were flying, reflected against face masks as I looked up. They looked down and cut the torches, waving me under. I had flashbacks to growing up on that barrier island in Florida, where stopping for a bridge to open in cars or waiting for a bridgetender to open the bridge in boats wasn't unusual. In my little boat, under that semi naked bridge, I could hear my Dad laughing...
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