I can't imagine summoning the courage (or the cowardice, take your pick) to actually leap from it, head first, flying towards the water. The wind blows hard up at the crest, and I wonder whether he was concerned about being blown around two much. For some reason, even while knowing that death awaited me at the bottom, I would still worry that the wind might shove me into the bridge.

Maybe it's an aesthetic thing, but I wouldn't want the bridge to turn my perfect dive into a tumbling, bouncing News-at-Eleven affair.

Still, can you imagine teetering on the railing, the wind blowing in your face, and suddenly you decide that now, right now you're going to throw yourself over the edge? Get a running start, pray not to screw up the jump from the street to the rail to oblivion and WHOOSH! The wind blows harder and . . . I don't know. I don't want to continue. . .

Because what happens on the way down? Do you regret, are you enveloped in a golden, suffused glow? Or what?

San Diego-Coronado Bay Bridge

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