Steel as confessor: a bridge inspection that felt less like measuring

Out on the girders this week, I caught myself not logging crack widths so much as listening to them—like the span was telling me something it hadn't worked up the nerve to say to the last inspector. The gauges still got read, but I left quieter than I arrived, less sure I'm fixing anything and more sure I'm just showing up. That's not a bad way to spend a career, I guess.