He has ridden the ass of persistence into power. He manages the facility now as well as being head lifeguard. He sits hunched, the red rescue tube straddling his hips, the red whistle straddling his lips. He sets an example. He is not afraid to blow his whistle. Just now he has to get out of his seat because his repeated tweets have not thwarted some forbidden behavior. This irritaties him, and he worries the polyester microfiber of his red lifeguard shorts as he marches to the other side of the pool where a few more shrill tweets and some haranguing have the corrective effect. What that involves is a mystery to onlookers, unsure of the offender as well as the offense. The young Latina? Her toddler? The Iraqi grandmother?

Mister Tweet goes back to his perch. He is keeping us safe.


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