They don't swim

I could tell by his first few words that Dan was excited about something. He was talking 90-to-nothing, but not making any sense. Still half-asleep, I could have sworn he said something about “squash” and “pool”. These words in that combination meant nothing to me. Finally, frustrated, Dan told me to just come over and see for myself. This proposition did not interest me, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t let me sleep anyway, so I got up. When I pulled up at his house, it was lit up like the Vegas Strip. Dan came running out. As we walked around the house Dan chattered non-stop. None of it registered. I was already trying to decide if I could sleep in that morning. We rounded the corner, and I got my first look at the floodlight illuminated pool. My jaw literally dropped. There, face-down in the classic “dead-man’s float” with matted hair drifting around its’ body, was a Bigfoot. Sasquatch. Yeti. Whatever you want to call it. It was the last thing you’d ever expect to find in a swimming pool.

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