It must of been the summer the Schuykill&nbsp;&nbsp;unearthly ignited into flames from an errant cigarette, discarded by an eel fisherman into the effluent runoff from Mr. Oink-full's Scrapple&nbsp;&nbsp;plant. 

Do you remember that evening? Night air cumbersome and pungent, brimming with the smell of burnt feathers and piercing quacks. All those fateful mallards drowning in flames upon the boiling river rotisserie. Blazing ripples dancing in a stunning kaleidoscopic noxious borealis. 

 While entranced in this sight, it was with a tap on the shoulder from&nbsp;&nbsp;the Manayunk Marbler that would indelible reshape my belief in interconnected theory.