They were there before the opening, big shining truck or cute sedan lining the road. Each sitting in their car, waiting, staring, frowning. Suddenly the rusty door creaked open, sky blue water glowed. They were not wearing masks, not swimming, but standing about, talking, laughing on things interesting or boring. The way they hang out, different from my upbringing. We used to hang out at the community faucets, washing clothes while gossiping. Even now, we hold dumpling parties, not just eating them, but rather making them from dough. Even if when doing the same thing, people do it differently, for example, fishing. We immigrants just can't fish for entertainment. The goal of fishing must be the dinner on the catch of the day-- even if the sign says, "Don't eat the fish caught here."