Train

Train thought of a saying he heard recently: Rules are made to be broken. Which was not necessarily a golf saying, he knew, but the golf course is where he heard it. There was always a philosopher in a foursome, and some days Train played their sayings back in his head to pass the time, found the right situation to use one on every hole.

shook his head like he couldn’t bring himself to break the rules. “No, fuck, we got a bet.

Disappointment was the only thing about the game that lasted. You could try not to get your hopes up, but you might as well tell the cat not to kill the birds. Things work the way they work.

He got to the point by now that he didn’t care about the niceties of the game or how he looked in front of his friends, which in the game of golf was as bad as you could be beat.

Golf was like that, as cruel as a clubfoot.

The fat man, though, was still staring at the spot where the ball gone into the trees, like he was offering it one last chance to give itself up and come out, and then without any warning he wheeled around and sent the club in there too, a sound vomiting up out of him that wasn’t in any Reader’s Digest, or any dictionary, that didn’t have letters t