Pool_2

"What the hell are they talking about? Nothing happened that day. Nothing. I was there. What new fence? What paint? What wood? What rides? What free food?" The paper accounts detailed the day's festivities. To celebrate the new twelve foot high hurricane fences just placed around the swimming facility and around the reservoir, the mayor's wife held an art festival. Wooden 4 by 8's were hung along the full length of the fence and painted by the area children. Three bands played and concession stands gave out free hot dogs and hamburgers. Prizes for the best art were awarded. The commissioner of parks and recreation, whose idea this was, could not be present due to a foot injury sustained in an evening safety inspection. "Hey Frank, what fence? What wood? What art? I was here. Alone. Me and a few birds. What's the deal?" Mac demanded. Frank's steely eyes narrowed, "Don't ask! It's dangerous." Penchant again did his masturbatory pantomime into the deep end. Half of the kids jumped to the occasion and the deck was ringed with a mock jerk off into the water, as they chanted, "The pool, the pool, go blind for the pool," but they wouldn't explain. There were races. Every year swimming, and walking in water races, diving, and other water events were held to a packed facility. The divers were magnificent. Form, complexity, grace, it was all there. Many of these youngsters excelled on trampoline, where they perfected their best stuff, sponsored by the local NAACP. That the guards had to pull most of the divers out of the water after their dives went pretty much unnoticed, just part of the event. Like Roosevelt's leg braces, class made them unimportant. Style made them invisible. Nobody judges a falcon by the way it swims. The divers made life as it was invisible. They parted the air with beauty. Beauty and style. Grand style.