There ought to be a river ride in one’s lifetime.
My boatman, Edgar, is boss here today. He says I should have come a little earlier to witness how the sunrise turns everything to yellow.
You mean gold, I said.
Yellow, he presses.
I told him how unfortunate the waters have turned black.
No it’s red, he says.
He spoke about how their catch have dwindled down in years. Squatter shanties and janitor fish.
We are losing the river, he said.
He’s never wrong.