The riverboat travels our river, passing all towns and most of the mills. The hillsides are now filling with fine houses. Driveways replacing cow pasture and horse stalls. But the riverboats still make the journey from the mouth to the foot. Traveling from cemetery to cemetery, passing the sleeping and the dying, carrying the revelers and occasional revolutionary. The riverboat is full of gamblers with guns, and guns. Our ship traveling between centuries has simulated coal piles, though its engines are diesel. The smoke stack pours enhanced smoke effects. When it nears the docks it blares its electronic air horn and the extra steam bursts forth within the specially fitted stacks. Noise brings the crowds and smoke shows them the way.

Our river is full of gamblers faced with coincidence. Afraid of their journey. Next stop coming up soon. [1963]