On the morning before he was to report to the pool, Attis Clopton sat in a storefront breakfast spot near his Brooklyn apartment munching a glazed doughnut. He was worrying. It was a glorious day, blue sky and hot. The kind when they say the only sensible place to be is in the water.
But, please, let’s not go there.
As he imagined what lay ahead, his hands got clammy. He needed to think about something else — anything else.
Anything but water.
Read and see The New York Times
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