Of course they never failed to supply alternative reasoning; police frequented both ends of it; they had terrible balance; some would go so far as to say they felt a vibration in the tracks. But most locals whom avoided the trestle knew in truth there was no route of access for a squad car to approach either end of the structure, and it was so wide that you would have to lose your footing and stumble four feet to the side in order to pass over its edge. And as for trains, every person in town knew only one or two crossed the trestle per month, maybe less.
Yet it was only the youth, and a mere portion of it at that, that dared to take on the trestle that spanned the polluted, winding stretch of river below. Everyone else avoided it as if it were an uncomfortable topic of conversation; they might’ve tried crossing it once, reached the point where it extended over the water and suddenly decided it wasn’t safe; they might’ve even gone back several times after that, but four instances out of five, they would never even get as far as they did their first try.
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