Quotes About Overpass

They were in Cranston, a down-at-the-heels, mostly white bedroom community below Providence, facing a small brick apartment building wedged against the junction of an expressway and a ninety-degree overpass—the home of John Neri, like them an anonymous floor-worker in a long-gone gray underworld. The air was thrumming with the sounds of endlessly passing traffic.

The fringe crowd looks pretty typical for the wrong side of an L.A. overpass in the middle of the night.

Besides, interesting things happen along borders—transitions—not in the middle where everything is the same. There may be something happening along the border of the crowd, back where the lights fade into the shade of the overpass.

I wasn't cold, but I was shivering when I walked onto the Clayton Road overpass. I wasn't scared either, even when I climbed over the rail. I didn't feel much of anything.

And then something happened. It was a fragment of time, a breath of time. It was like being in a car in pouring rain and driving under an overpass, and for just that second there is a profound, powerful sense of reprieve- the utter silence of non-rain.