The Golden Shower Gate Bridge and how it sprang into construction: with low-hanging balls, high heels, fancy open vaginas, and floppy dicks splayed above the dining tables. Our legs were not long enough to push up between the two walls alone, so we were forced to use reinforced wood structures to screw and screw over the eaters' heads and bolt our nuts and nut the bolts. The structure was seemingly sound enough to keep the trust of the eaters below but sufficiently unsafe and shaky/hazardous/slippery for us to feel exhilarated. We sweat big pearls, not knowing if some of the construction workforce would make a poodle slip and then a dead-dove dive from the growing Golden Shower Bridge onto one of the dinner tables. Or the wood slipping out of our thin, unsound fingers and crashing onto the half-eaten boar's head down below. As we reached the peak of the bridge and the peak of us and the peak of trust, we, of course, understood the urethral sphincter as a crowd-controlled entity. Trust built up during construction, and finally all of that trust got to let go.