some bridges are not meant to have walkways

So I take the ferry to Bremerton yesterday for psychogeographical reasons- to wander in an unknown small town and find its soul. Bremerton is as quiet a place as I've ever been to- my own booted footsteps echoing down desolate "city"-streets. I pass few people, and those that I do encounter seem sullen and a bit cracked. One young man seems to be on a similar wandering, and I cross paths with him a few times- he wears huge baggy vinyl pants/dress and heavily eyelined eyes. I would've bade him a greeting, but he kept his gaze on his own shuffling feet.
I stop in a dive bar and have a few pints, watch a bit of the Seahawks game and pretend I give a shit.
I end up walking directly to Manette Bridge. A narrow two-lane (down to one lane at its apex) 1940s bridge spanning the Port Washington Narrows. This bridge is the soul of Bremerton, and I imagine many people have jumped the over-150 feet to the deep cold waters of the Narrows to end their lives- dark waters full of passing orcas and sea-lions. I cross the bridge very apprehensively, each step sending cold fear up my spine. I even turned around once, believing that I couldn't possibly make it across, that my fear would overtake me and I'd be forced to crawl back. But I walked on anyway, making sure not to glance at the tumbling waters so far below. Fuck, this bridge is madness. At its highest middle point there are even gaping holes alongside the walkway where the bridge supports are- holes large enough for a person to slide through. These Bremertonians are insane for having such a bridge; to cross such a foreboding construction on a daily basis is sadistic.

Well, it took me two months, but I just finished building a large stone tower in the backyard. Now I have an amazing vantage point. This tower is very high, and I whirl in vertigo half the time I spend up there- I can see so much. From across the water are the white peaks of the Olympics, the wildest mountains this side of the border.