I'm toning down my self-righteousness.

No one likes a smart ass.

But directing your own gig comes with responsibilities.

It's knowing when to pull back.

The material will come, never force it.

It's just like taking a shit, let it flow. Don't push too hard. The turd will resist giving birth.

Jake the lifeguard says if I want, I can do three kilometers. I did two the other day. He's given me a board to put between my knees.

'The buoyancy will help with your stroke.'

Three kilometers later, I had to agree.

I usually buy him a packet of Parkway cigarettes. They only cost me one buck my currency.

He'll reciprocate with a cup of coffee.

Johnny usually has his own stash of coffee.

Swimming isn't just swimming. It's socializing. It's like a good game of tennis but so much more conducive to the tropics.

Fuck tennis, I tell Jake, it's so overrated.

Johnny says swimming is his life.

I can really relate to it.

But yesterday was a scorcher.

Too hot to hit the pool early afternoon.

And too hot for walking.

I walked. I did about six clicks in total.

I hit the Seven Eleven and paid the exorbitant prices.

This is one Seven Eleven I haven't frequented I told the Malay.

And the fucking roads are dangerous, I said.

Crossing the road over to the swimming pool, I was propelled forward onto the road.

A minibus was moving fast. I managed to stop my bulk moving forward and waited for an opening to cross the road.

That was fucking hairy. Be careful what you wish for.

It nearly fucking happened.


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