A happy summer day. This was the only pool in Fargo, for a while, and people were grateful. Of course, after the Dust Storms blew through, the pool turned to mud. But it was good mud, honest workingman's mud, and they scooped it out and distributed it to the poor on Decoration Day.

It seems impossible to me now, but I swam here once, with my dad. It’s a dim memory with some vivid details – I recall dank mossy concrete most of all, as if the building had absorbed the summer-funk of a million feet. You undressed and put your clothes in a wire basket; the attendant gave you a token, embossed with your basket’s number, attached to a rubber band. This went around your ankle or your wrist, depending on your preference or girth.  You hit the showers, then padded off shivering and self-conscious to the pool. I remember nothing else, except for the vague impression of a place that was old and cold.

What became of the pool, you ask?