In the picture above the old Flagler bridge looked quite as appealing as any other of these old structures, the water pipe shining white in the winter sun.
It was heavily signposted.
Very heavily signposted. This bridge was built in the beginning of the twentieth century, not the middle. Perhaps they tarted it up in the middle of World War Two to make it safe for tanks or something.
Recently they lined it with metal railings to make it safe for increasingly dim witted humans. Oh, and they've added more labeling which my dog is unable to read.
Not only does she not have an opposable thumb, she also lacks the ability to read English. Just like these pigeons which can't or won't read all those signs. I didn't see one rule that outlawed mating in public on a fishing bridge but that's a given across the state of Florida.
Not only were these two misbehaving in public, they were doing it in front of a rapt audience.
I turned my attention to the scenery which was as delightful as usual. Sugarloaf:
And I had all this to myself.
Except for the amorous birds and a very bored dog.
Under the circumstances I wanted to sit on the cement edge and dangle my feet over the water and contemplate the meaning of life. Which harmless activity has been outlawed by the safety obsessed.
So I leaned on the cold hard metal railing and tried to do the same thing.
Nothing deterred by the discomfort of metal on midriff I took up another equally useful posture to contemplate the meaning of blah...blah...blah.
The indefatigable pigeons were still at it when we left.
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