39/365: O'Neill, 1992

O'Neill gave names to our big toes: "They love each other and they hate to be apart. Make sure you get them to touch every time you kick." Then he sent us off to do laps of kicking. I took it a bit too literally and somehow managed to scrape and bruise up my feet on my toenails.

At the end of that summer he packed all his worldy posessions into an orange Volkswagen microbus, and I caught him clearing the last of his stuff out of the guard shack at the pool. He said he was moving to California. I was the only person to see him off.