It’s summer 1978 and you will tunes blares across the intercom
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The track, tinny and you may laden up with static, wafts over the today-nevertheless Olympic-sized pond and disappears toward grove away from walnut and you can oak trees on the playground past. “Gorgeous guy in the city,” some of us play with each other from the bath, “acting crazy and you may lookin’ rather.” Suds move down our bare backs, the fresh habits from our Speedos tanned to your our skin: paisley swirls, Western flags. Read more