In 1989, in the encroaching mountains of Serbia or Tennessee, an idea occurred between two brothers; or rather, a quixotic dream: to build a bridge from Turkey to Europe. This bridge would be lined with tapestries and populated by a thousand great white birds. Soaring over the Mediterranean sea, as it were, commuters would be flanked by low growing patches of colorful flora. The bridge would be a swath of color and light, a paintbrush stroke between continents, between cultures, between civilizations. On each independence day of each independent country, elaborate displays of fireworks would erupt from the bridge and the Christmas lights would crawl across the bridge like festive veins of ivy on the eves of all the world's favorite holidays.
The brothers were pleased by their idea, and so they set off to play music in the streets, that they may raise the funds (approximately $85 billion would do) by the generosity (monetarily speaking) of the persons whose lives they one day hope to improve.
Journeying south and west in hopes of finding a venerated Moroccan bridge builder, whose inventions were challenging the minds of Europe's most gifted architects, while perpetually lacking force enough to pry open the gilded hands of the continent's investors; they met- the brothers- deep in the south of Spain, their cousin Daniel, a pugilist and a flute maker, whom they had not seen since their uncle's wedding, when, after blows were exchanged, blood was spilt, gifts were ungiven, a deep respect and love between families had been forever dashed upon the bouldery rift between mountains of stony pride.
-based on preliminary interviews for the forthcoming non-fiction tome "Suspended Bridges"
by Max Benkelman