On the bank of a mile-wide river, Alex dawdles and dreams.
Why in the heck would a swamp rat, dang near a possum, be saddled by guilt?
The swamp rat is barely keeping it alive and together and attuned. Yet on top of terrible, true problems, why must there be the added aggravation of guilt?
To make matters worse?
Alex could hardly imagine things could be worse.
Alex appears to be dawdling, but he is simultaneously poked and pressed against the ropes. He dawdles trying to relax, but also because he wears a restricting hair shirt, a shirt of possum hair, of guilt. He is guilty because he dawdles.
There is the big river, channel of commerce, love, refreshment, and jazz. It is a mucky, muddy rolling and mixing. To Alex, it doesn’t look like rain.
Spam of Human Affection 
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