It's been a while, but I'm starting to write again. Don't expect too much though, as it takes a while to get back into the routine for me.
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There were stories--I'd heard, where people at a resort like this would get up early and leave their towels on the sun loungers to reserve them. I guess this is something like that?
The large pool was bathed with the morning light as I looked down form my suite on the third floor. There he was, Hans, a German. Every morning at 7:30--on the dot he'd be there, his muscle-suit over his shoulder. He'd study the layout of the loungers, but more often then not he'd pick the same one.
He'd lay out the suit, a bronzed muscle God in a skimpy speedo. I could see he was struggling with its weight, it was big. Hans was much older, late fifties at least, almost half the size.

















