He stood by the pool. His Margerita was halfway to his lips. He started to laugh. He had been fighting her for so long he forgot that he could be wrong. She in his face challenged him, like she was mooning him the old fashion way. She said, "Prove me wrong, you bastard." He tried. He couldn't do it. He gulped his drink without a breath and dove into the pool. He hadn't swam yet this year. It felt good. His shoulder was loose.
