From below, beneath the surface, the rain made reverse, inverted, backwards world circular ripples on the water in the pool. Stan watched from the platicized concrete floor. He watched and even from ten feet down was able to hear the sissing noise the rain made. The clouds were muddled now, the dark grey, light gray, blue and white becoming a mess. Bubbles from his respirator rose in a regular stream of blooping circles that hit the surface with a “Pish..” or so it sounded from his vantage point. The old school weight belt held him in place, on his back, arms akimbo floating. He pondered sleeping. Could he do it? How much air did he have left? Would he drift, open his mouth a bit, lose the mouthpiece Nd die, everyone thinking it was suicide instead of stupidity. He wouldn’t give his detractors the chance to make headlines. Instead, he undid the belt and allowed himself to rise, like Martin Sheen from Apocalypse Now. His head crested the surface. He looked left and saw movement. It was Trevor, sitting patiently under the patio umbrella.
“I’m wet. Are you done? I really need a coffee and I’m tired of spotting you. Your new hobby is dumb .”
Spitting out the regulator Steve wiped his mouth. “Yeah. Me too. Lets get one down town. It’s raining and all the dorky jogging chicks will be warming up at Starbucks.”
His friend shook his head as he moved to the edge of the pool and reached down to help take off the tank webbing. “You never turn it off, do you..”
“Nope good buddy. It’s my purpose. Making women happy for short duration then setting them free.” Steve exited the pool and began to towel off his body.
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