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PROLOGUEThe big man in black stood in silent contemplation of the muted sounds of the city by night and the sluggish rhythms of 01' Man River the mighty Mississippias it flowed behind him with its ghostly murmurings from eternity.Eternal, yeah . . . that was the word. A flowing stream was like the life of a moving maneternal, yet ever changing, the waters flowing from some unseen beginning and hurrying toward an unimaginable infinitynothing ever fixed, nothing ever certainyet eternal . . . eternal.Banks and beds do not a river make; Bolan knew that. Nor did waters. H20big deal molecules in great numbers, clinging to one another through chemical bonds while slowly drifting from nowhere to nowhere.1