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Show 46, Jeffries, Islamorada "That would b e -" "Nine iron." They stood looking out over fashionable West Akron. "Whadd'ya think, Dory, whadd'ya think?" "You got to do it around the greens; that one as big as Dan Blocker you're not going to beat him off the tee." "Fuck this! A mulligan? I don't understand- I'm no golfer- Anyways-" He swung angrily and they winced and ducked as the ball came back off an oak at their heads, hit a cobblestone bridge, and kicked out onto the fairway. "You're living right, Pop," Dory acknowledged, "I mean that's one hell of a shot. In goofy-golf anyhow." Their shirts soaked, they looked thirstily down the eighteenth fairway where the boys were putting out the set-ups, nineteenth hole. The foursome came together again, riding their tight little patrol up to the long apron. Griffin began loudly, over the hum of the powered carts, "Well I'm a bit, say, are you hungry, caddy? You know I'll get that seventy-dollar food bill here monthly, eat it or not. . ." Griffin was having some words with Harlan and Lute, two second-generation West Virginians paired |
