I crossed over the trestle bridge and followed the farm road that ran beside the creek into town. The creek’s water was brackish—not fit to drink—and was more of an inlet of the bay than a proper stream. It spanned the length of town, separating the beach area from the town proper, and the locals liked it fine that way. Though things boomed in those days with the ocean trade, the breakwater contractors, the train commerce, the fishing fleets and the visitors, all of that was quarantined on the bayside. The creek insured that any disreputable types who passed time at the beach wouldn’t soil the city folks.
I stopped at the end of Second Street to look for colored faces. Everyone was white, and none of them gave me as much as a glance. It was still early but the town was wide awake. The sto
