Saturday, September 04, 2010

wash day

Flat on my back in the Great Salt Lake. The water isn't cold, in fact I barely feel the temperature. It is less than a foot deep here, just a wide puddle on top of a white flat crust. The salt is infiltrating me, my hair, my shoes, my business suit that I bought from Moe Lesh my first year in New York City.

It's not just salt. There is something greasy about this water. I take a handful of hair on the back of my head and squeeze. It feels slick and muddy, but it's not muddy. I lay back again. My friend Chuck is snapping pictures. I am happy like a pig. No worries about the suit. No worries about the water, or the day, or my performance. I can splash all I want. I can wallow in it. I can just lie here and soak.

I've dressed up in plenty of suits in my life. Since I was probably three, when they were tailor-made for me (by mom). I have been waiting decades for this. Balance is being restored. I am rehabilitating the suit. The boy. The man.


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