The poetry of leg muscles shall be Rodney's salvation. We will all agree to not stare at the Canadian quarter stuck on his exterior right thigh. Each day the oils and substances bonding it deeper and deeper into the leg flesh. We will whisper about it, about its grotesqueness, to one another. We will privately share our revulsion and obsession and secret glee over his suffering. In front of the others, though, we remain well behaved, groomed, reverent and obedient. Nothing will disrupt the party. We will not be the ones to take something away from the evening. The pool is safe.