"Kite me a sign," demands the old partimer as he sits beneath the obstruction on granite stones. It is from his and the perspective of many others, in which the thing above him is an obstruction. But, there is no reason that the old man couldn't possibly stand up and walk around it. According that the other old man, who is slightly wiser than the former (by only a few months), the bridge is but a bridge. He runs across it with a grey kite apparently a shade darker than the sky with a twisted and hardened string. In his wrath, the first old man weeps; he weeps at his hopeless and unknowingly self-imposed situation. Likewise, the latter old man weeps; he weeps at his inability to bequeath his audacity on the stubborn soul below. Even still, the dark kite continues to fly.