It was an ordinary day. A group of them were swimming one kilometre from Teabag Bay north to the Mooloolaba Surf Club. As they always did, several times a week. She freestyled head down, enjoying the vast pattern of terraced sand below, like a miniature desert. They swam under a blue and yellow sky. Her flippers powered her along past familiar landmarks they all knew, the triangular building, the white measuring poles, the long border of horse casuarinas, a carpark, fanning out now, each alone. She was comfortable, non-thinking, looking for schools of bream, a stingray, a sudden bright tropical…
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