He swam like a shark they said. Fast smooth and precise. Like a bullet through the water they said. Though I never saw him. Not in real life anyway. Just on film. The grainy black and white. His pale torso , like an unrobed specter on the starting block. His skinny legs somehow supporting all his wide shoulders. His freakishly long toes curling over the end of the block, as easily and as effortless as fingers grasping a stick. And for that split second, down, ready, barely breathing he almost didn’t look real at all. He looked like an exquisite stone stAtue, the definition odf muscle, the slightest hints of vdin, the smooth porcelain skin, as if he were carved by one of the master carvers whose stAtues inhabit museums around the world. Statues with one arm or half a torso or no nose. An antiquity, not yet claimed. The siynd of the pistol, and he’s off. Straightens his body before he slices through the surface.