Bridges and Trolls

     On a recent road trip I crossed an interesting, yet disconcerting, bridge across the Ohio River. My sister was with me, and we approached the bridge after dark. There was a toll booth.
     “Seventy-five cents,” said the attendant.
     I scrambled to find the change.
     “Or a dollar round-trip,” he added.
     My sister was behind the wheel. She glanced at me, and we communicated telepathically, as sisters do. She handed him a dollar.
     Being pitch black out, we couldn’t see much, but we heard plenty. The bridge shook and rattled as the heavy SUV rolled upon it.
   “Go faster,” I said. “Let’s get across this thing before it falls in.”
     She sped up, and the rattling increased. From out of nowhere, something bright and shocking appeared. There was a traffic light looming ahead on the bridge, and it was red.