This is one of the piers of my own particular Bridge; the one near where I grew up, the Bridge that was the scene of so many important events of my teenage years. Surrealistically, it is now part of a National Park, but if you go there today you will still sometimes see a greying man or woman standing next to the bike path and looking into the water, remembering a time when this was an isolated place at the end of an overgrown road closed off with heavy chains, the lair and gathering place of disaffected youth. (Just close your eyes; it still smells the same.)
People used to paint on the piers back then, too, and it’s good to see that even the National Park Service can’t quite foil the artistic lure of Graffiti Under the Bridge. The tagger called Ghost has been working here for several years; I really like his or her icon. The comment about clean walls is new since the last time I visited.This image is going to be the desktop wallpaper on my new computer, if I ever get a new computer.