Selling postcards of the hanging

We went to see the destroyed bridge yesterday. Dylan's "Desolation Row" resounded through my head.

Meanwhile, we ran into J( *} high above the river on the bridge adjacent to the wreckage. I hadn't seen him in about five years. He lives at the other end of the Mississippi in another city famous for its failed infrastructure. Then the fam and I continued across to a brewhouse where I drank cask IPA and L fancy-danced with salt and pepper shakers.

(The encounter with J( *} was highly coincidental because I had the thought last week that I'm a New Orleans boy on the wrong end of the river. That's what living down there will do for ya- it'll brand you for life.)