lengths before work

All summer I swam in the ponds at seven, before work, before the day got its hands on me. The water holds its cold longer than the air does, the ducks are unimpressed by everyone equally, and an old man who has swum there fifty years nods good morning at exactly the same spot each time, as if we had an appointment.

I counted lengths in my head and lost count in the same place every day, and for twenty minutes I owed nothing to anyone. Then I dried off on the bank with grass sticking to my feet, and the whole city started without me, and I let it.