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    Summary

    This late, the only things golden about the bridge are the lights flaring at its perimeter, suffused by the fog. Cars rumble past, unseen, heard—felt—from the metal-wrought suspension separating them from Figaro and Oz, heading for the pier.

    Figaro shivers, pulling his jacket on tighter with the hand not holding the flashlight. The bay’s perpetual chill worsens at night. Worse yet when the fog curls between the bridge’s wires and under its scaffolding, kissing the water as if it does not churn in knowledge primordial.

    The howl that comes-and-goes in their ears is the wind’s, just as ancient. Figaro complains, unafraid of eavesdroppers, “Why couldn’t we do this from the bridge? Hot air rises and I’m freezing down here! And it would have had a way better view!”

    “People and cameras.”

    He looks around: the pier is as empty and ramshackle as the client’s house had been. “Oh. Okay, yeah, that makes sense.”

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    3,203
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
    4
    Kudos:
    17
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    1
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  2. 04 Mar 2025

    Rec

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    Bookmark Notes:

    man watching my boys dispose of a body is always a treat