The Wistful Voyage
The hydraulic seal on the north piling gave way with a sound like a gunshot, and then the world simply dropped, the weight of two hundred tons of concrete and steel shifting from the riverbed to the air, and I was standing on the deck, my hand still resting on the cold iron railing, watching the span that I had signed off on, the bridge that was supposed to hold for fifty years, snap in half...
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