Bridge To Nowhere . . .

I'm in full plummet mode. Perched precariously above Black Creek as it races beneath the old arch of a long-abandoned wood mill deep in the Limehouse Conservation Area. I shouldn't be here. It's dangerous. But I creep through a fence and slide down a steep slope. Behind me are two witnesses, one old enough to know better, camera in hand, waiting for me to slip. The perfect picture, the adult says. The little one giggles, nervous, fearful . . .