The LetterA domed city, split by four rivers, an island at its center. In the southeast quadrant, a taxi-carriage pulled up to a shop on 2nd Street. In the gutter lay a card:
BRIDGES: 500 YEARS OF CULTURE
THE JEWEL OF THE GREAT PLAINS
The postcard depicting an elegant couple crossing a golden bridge lay in horse manure. A carriage-track ran through it.
I stepped over the scene as I climbed from the taxi-carriage, my borrowed boots grating on the rough concrete sidewalk. Trash flew past in the wind. The air smelled of rain, clouds hanging dark in the afternoon sky. “How much to wait?”
The clocks chimed half past two. The driver, in his sixties, pushed his goggles up on his forehead. His horse tossed its head and shifted. “Here? Penny now, penny when you done,” he paused, leering, “caus
