There are men below the bridge. Careful! Women cross the bridge, their black dresses billowing in the river breeze. The current is tumultuous. Sometimes, the men climb the crumbling bridge walls to grab the ankles of the innocent, causing them to trip. Savages, they are. When they moan with hunger the women pull their shawls around their shoulders tighter, as if that will protect them. Those savages wait for a ripe looking woman, each step racketing up their excitement. The poor thing won’t even have a chance to scream for help. But they are only satisfied for a moment. They are always hungry.