Pool_2

>> Strange Goings <<

This was the rhythm of Charles Darling where young Macaluso worked three summers. Jake visited on weekends, having become a local celebrity, being merely published. But that was well before the New York Times picked up on his next masterpiece, the second of five escalating works, before his widespread recognition as a personality. It was still in that first summer when uncertainty swirled. "Look at that boy," referring to Grunt, as he was called, "What's to become of him?" Grunt was aptly named as he never uttered sentences without a preceding guttural noise. His face was strangely wide and his eyes were nearly horse like on the sides of the expanse of his face. His lips were hugely blunted and yet barely covered his grossly gum covered teeth. He grunted , "gnnnngh, whacheme dahve. Gnnnngh gnnngh," as he just fell over the edge into the deep water. "GRUNT'S IN THE DEEP," Fred called, matter of factly as big John jumped quickly in and tossed Grunt out to safety with what looked like a water missile launch. "Hey, Grunt, you have to pass the test," referring to the guard lane kept free for guards practice and deep water skills testing. "Don't go in the deep water. OK? You can't swim. You might have a seizure in there." Grunt had about two or three of those a day. The kids would just hold his head out until the guards got him . "Oinky, Grunt needs his shit!" Gerry the Pig as the kids often teased officer Penchant, or Oinky, had taken it on himself to keep medicine for Grunt in his shirt pocket. The pig label was not insulting here, as the barb was really at white hippies whose language this was, not theirs. Here Penchant was a man workin for the man. Just doing his job. They'd do it if they could get it. Penchant ran to the rescue making