Blue Rubber Pool
My lovely new bride—for whom I’d given up sailing and moved to rural South Carolina—preferred staying at her parent’s generations-old plantation house.
Clients hounded me from four different time zones.
An unmarked helicopter buzzed the beach house I built in a cow pasture.
I liked Led Zeppelin while my neighbors were all into country. The kind of guns I liked were not for hunting and the kind of boat I liked was not for fishing.
I began questioning the merits capitalism and, too, my aversion to religion.
So I bought a $200 kiddie pool from Big Lots and spent most of a summer in it, floating and thinking.
When I finally got out, I’d written an abstract memoir. An adventure on The Money Trail.
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