In the middle of the wealthy district, we are having breakfast. It is cold outside and the sky fills with heavy grey clouds. Several children are swimming in the heated pool. A little girl is proud she can skip to the music that is playing from hidden speakers. I am not allowed because I am too old. A woman wearing a straw hat passes before a window. She is smiling at nothing. A man rolls a yellow cart along the cement walkway around the pool. The wheels rattle to the music. A. sits and reads the paper. Peter laps up yogurt with a spoon. Eric laughs after a round waitress pours coffee. "Coffee!" he says incredulous and gleeful.
All day two old people sit in rubber lawn chairs. The old man makes a gesture with his hand. The old woman laughs and laughs. There are three men painting the deck green with long handled brushes. One goes to the water spigot and fills his bucket with water. His hands are covered in green splotches. We wait for Peter to get off the telephone. But he doesn't for a long while because he is talking to his girlfriend. We mill about under the tomb sized chandelier. We inspect the eccentrically colored flowers in a vase as big as a tub. A. repeats over and over again, "It's okay to be bored. . . It's okay to be bored," as he paces, waiting for Peter. A. read that in a book yesterday, a used book he carries under the flap of his jacket.