Among the Hamilton Fish

Two summers ago, two colleagues and I tried to spend our lunch break in what we’d noticed was a miniature wading pool about ten minutes southwest of our office downtown. Eager and slightly embarrassed, we showed up in tankinis and one-pieces only to be denied entry by a guard: the pool, he advised, was only for children and their caretakers. We retreated, crestfallen, to Washington Square Park, where two of us ventured into the fountain at its center, ankle deep in our sandals, standing meekly in the warm crossfire. It’s not something I’d do again, but I remember the relief and pleasure of it. The beaches were so far.