You swung that 9 mm Flat-headed club. You struggle to get out of bed and eat before 9. The golf ball flying through the air perfectly aimed at the hole. The joints by your hips causing excruciating pain in your L5 discs. It hit the hole like soundless shattered glass. It made you scream as pain shot down your legs. “Nein!” I screamed. We went home. You won- another game would be played soon. We stopped by. You lost the muscles required to finish our game. The house behind hole 9 was filled with laughter. The house on 9 Fox Hurst Rd became still and quiet.