Tuesday afternoon 

Hank is shouting that he can’t swim. Unfortunately, I can’t help him; one, because I’m at least twenty feet upstream. Two, I landed underwater and swallowed a gallon of the stuff. Choking and gagging, I finally get the spasms under control. Hank is floundering up ahead. I dig in and stroke toward him, but it seems like he’s moving further away by the moment. 

Then something lucky happens. Well, I feel it’s lucky...