A fresh heavy towel, drooped over my weightless shoulders, a cotton-like shawl, as my two ever-so-slim legs merrily skipped the sidewalk cracks that were roasting beneath the sun.
The diluted chlorine, detectable from a far distance away, was our glowing road sign to heaven; to a location we could splash and rejoice about the simplicities that our worry-free youth unknowingly had to offer.
No greedy, green, money-driven fist existed to charge us forced entry at the door. In fact, regular pleasures were nearly free and quite easy to obtain in this era before.
Our providers possessed more spare time to adequately contribute to the wellbeing of their homes. They had also acquired a more useful level of know-it-all-to-get-through-life knowledge. A town symbol patch was therefore easily sown onto the fold of our trunks; guaranteeing our unlimited access to a day filled with fun.
On one occasion, this woman, with lengthy sun-bleached hair and red croc-looking sandals, took my hand-me-down shoe hostage because my newly purchased white/black polka-dotted suit was patchless.
We soaked in the water till our skin was transformed into grapish-like flesh and new freckles covered the burnt tips of our nose. We then quickly rested our relaxed bodies on cement to dry before the place had to close.
Each shoe found its patchless suit owner, and walked our feet home, as the chain locked the fence and the sunset beamed down; engulfing the enormously loud bell of the church into the shadows around.
Every summer it seemed as though days passed like years. The towel it shrunk into an invisible facecloth, which I struggled to tie into a robe around my later awkwardly-underdeveloped womanly waist.
The fence, once so tall, now sneakily transformed into a cage, and life locked me up with its chains to wither of old age.
The lava-like cracks have now turned into gutters and they only take hostage my paycheck like others. In this hell, I cannot simply ransom a shoe, and they kidnapped my towel I sadly outgrew.