The old Golden Bridge is in the crosshairs. The thing is narrow, it strangles traffic, causing irritation, middle fingers brandished through car windows, slowing the pace and putting business in peril. It doesn't suffice. The Boa can't even look at it any more without flying into a rage. I want to be finished with the slow, the old, the broken down. I want it destroyed ....
So the Boa wants his bridge. Not just any arch, not just any viaduct hastily dreamed up, but a bridge in the image of the new Coca. He wants something large and functional, he wants at least six lanes - a freeway over the river. He wants a unique creation. Scans his debtors, his acquaintances, expresses his desire but no-one sends back the interpretation he's waiting for. In secret, he grabs a piece of paper and a pen and does some sketches of his own, but no matter how fast he draws his lines, trying to capture a pure form ... he can't quite get it.