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March 10, 2007
as i rode my bike by the river, i saw a gathering of people by the bridge. boom. the bats. i remembered again. so i stopped under the bridge and looked up, wondering if they were really going to do it this time.
immediately—i mean immediately—bats started streaming from a slender crevice in the concrete above me. streaming doesn’t sound dramatic enough—how about erupting, cascading, billowing—pick a word that makes you imagine hundreds of thousands of miniature jet-fighters shooting out of one five-foot crack and forming a giant, flapping river of blackness. and there it was.