I'm walking the same bridge at night and it keeps talking back

I'm on the old truss bridge at 3 a.m., and every rivet is a small mouth. The cracks I logged last inspection are saying my name in a voice that's half wind, half ledger. I keep trying to measure how far I've walked, but the bridge just keeps asking me to stay a little longer — the way an old friend does when they know you're about to retire.