the last tycoon

With Fitzgerald’s The Last Tycoon in hand, I saunter down to the swimming pool. It has been a day of meetings and walks and talks and swims, my watch tells me I have done enough, so I want to soak in the water and read in silence. The pool is always empty at this time of day. It is empty most times of day, but the chances of seeing anyone around 6pm are little to none. I arrive at the pool and one of my elderly neighbours is swimming. A great guy who always says a few words, very few, but he always waves and smiles. We chat a little and then he returns to his apartment. I settle into a corner of the pool, allow my limbs to float and muscles to relax, gather my book and read a few lines… a tremendous noise starts to approach me. Suddenly, four young women in their twenties arrive at the pool with alcohol, bikinis and tattoos. Far from being excited, I feel trapped. It seems they see me late and are surprised. I feel like I am spoiling their party. I feel like I am lurking, even though they arrived after me. I feel as though I need to leave but, in the gaze of their beautiful and tattooed bodies, I feel shy to rise from the water. I feel my age. I am overthinking. Finally, like Godzilla, or possibly more like a tired hippo, I emerge from the water and put my shirt on. I gather my glasses, my book, my AirPods, my keys and my flip flops and I move away, gently back upstairs to my peaceful abode. I find and feed the stray cat that lives in the building, then I shower and settle down to continue reading. Life is not that bad. 






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