Falling south from New Hampshire, on the road with Andrew. As we approach the Tappan Zee Bridge—signs and banners imprinted with “Life is Worth Living” and “When it seems like there is no hope, there is help.” As we begin to cross, emergency call boxes illuminated with blue lights. I try to imagine what they were feeling, the ones who came here on some moonless night, to park their cars at the center of the bridge, to stand at the edge with the wind in their faces looking down into the dark river a hundred feet below. I find out later that once, two people jumped within an hour of each other. And, if they had arrived at the same time? Each thinking the other was there to talk him down…. When they finally realized that, in each of their own aloneness, someone else was going through the same thing at the same time…would two lives have been saved by irrepressible compassion? Or would the unintended rapport have provoked anger at the intrusion upon two suicidal solitudes? Would they have just jumped together? We drift across the bridge without incident, become mired in New Jersey traffic, and then finally soar into Delaware and a bird darts in front of the car ahead of us and explodes into feathers and the pigeon carcass tumbles across the road.