: there’s always the typing pool :

Eighty-four degrees, an impossibly blue sky, sun-dappled trees; ideal conditions for closing the pool. This morning the sign was posted declaring it officially off-limits, verboten. There, at the padlocked gate, I felt like crying. Like uncorking a downpour of big, fat, chlorinated tears. Tomorrow they’ll drain the water and install the pool cover, the burial … Continue reading : there’s always the typing pool :