The increasingly less skeletal but still quite transparent small shreds of trees and brush obscure but don’t completely hide an unnecessary bridge. The south side of the highway contains both commuter and grunt rails. The north side perhaps once did. Indistinguishable scattered blobs of bubble letters slightly heighten the contrast between the rusted metal and what could maybe be considered natural surroundings meters away from the median. The bridge spans some sort of gap but certainly nothing more than a dry bed of chalky grey rocks home to more rusted cans of Lucky Lager than trickles of water.
tylandThe oft forgotten and more oft reborn site for overly verbose and usually self depreciating bits of writing on music, things that bother me, snippets of fiction and perhaps basketball.