I Am Not Sidney Poitier by Percival Everett:
“You want some lemonade, Jane?” Ted called forward.
Jane waved her hand in the air in a way that could have meant yes or no or my nails are perfect.
“What about you, Nu’ott?” Wanda Fonda asked me, again.
“No, thank you,” I said.
With that Wanda Fonda disappeared down the companionway.
We passed under the sweeping suspension bridge, and Ted turned to me and said, “This is the Not Sidney Lanier Bridge.” He chuckled. “Just joking. I think Sidney Lanier was a poet or something.”
I looked at the bridge, looking both east and west along its length, but could not see where or if either end ever found land.