I has arrived at my long coveted river confluence within one of the most geophysically fascinating spots in the world by the Arf Measure. The local economy sucks, but what do you expect from an area that floods too often for human settlements. Part of the appeal for this beaten dog. For all the half a century or so that I have floated through here, both physically and rhetorically, I am, in fact, barely even a tourist. Tourists are social. I prowl the marshes like. . . Insert analogy of personal preference here. ?...like the Shawnee for whom much of this area is named? Or is it just another label? If there is anything Shawnee still here, aside from the land, I haven't found it yet outside the gift shops.

I sit now in an affordable motel, enjoying the view of a dumpster outside my open door and just wondering. . . What next? The most consistent problem I have found in my constant running-from is that I keep arriving at destinations without any plans to work from.

For sure, I need smokes. That would be why I landed in Missouri instead of Illinois. The Free Law folk in Illinois sure are greedy. Their cigarette taxes support a hefty market for reduced tax cigarettes. I would rather support legitimate business when I can.

Still sorting. . .

River levels are WA-A-A-AY up!!! Literally. My bee barge wannabe is tied to a tree top.