An old, miserable guy goes down to the banks of the river. He raises his arms to the heavens. He beseeches the angels. He calls on them to make things better for him. They show up, but their mood is ugly. They tell him he has a scrawny neck, that they’re tired of guys like him. When he complains, they knock him down. They beat him with their thick fists. They roll him into the river. They walk off stolidly through the mists, not saying anything, breathing hard. Under their robes their shoulders are big and violent, under the great horns of their wings.