I understand that you can’t bring cameras into the locker room. I see some great shots. Like tonight. In the whirlpool. I’m in the prime location, wall side corner opposite the stairs. You get the best view for people watching and the best double crossover water jets so you can work on a knee and a neck the same time. Or just enjoy getting blasted by hot water from two directions.
I’m looking down the length of the pool. The walls inside the pool are a dark smallish red tile. A pale thin man in his early thirties is standing up, bending over in attempt to get a knee or ankle or something exposed to the jets. He’s pretty much bald except for long stringy hair on the sides. Across from him on my right against the wall a man, maybe forty, well built with bronze skin and a large tatoo of praying hands on his chest. Jet black hair. Peaking around the arch formed by the pale man’s back is the head of his five year old son. The son has a strong resemblance to the father. But has a bristling crew cut. A trick of the palid florescent lighting and the reflection of the red bricks turns the part of his face in shadows an eerie gray-green. The top left (my left) of his forehead catches the light and is pink.
What a picture.
Who needs a camera when you can write it that well?
Sometimes you’ve got to break the rules. It’s all about the art.
You need a spy cam. But you did write it well.
hey random props…nice xanga!
you did give an excellent description.