Now the only time I can see this intimate corner is in the movie the Little Fugitive.
It was where we changed out of wet bathsuits because there was "No Changing Clothes" in the ladies rooms. Or where we slipped away, tired of the hot blanket and familiar faces. Where when it was too sunny we went for a quick respite before jumping back into the waves. It's where I saw full body necking for the first time and felt I had just visited an exotic land, that kind of touch in our neighborhood only happening behind closed doors or in movies.
I once asked Florence if she went under there as a teenager but her tough smile response let me know it had not been good memories.
Now, it seems there is no way to go under anything except in certain spots and those places look official.
