he and f.w. were standing deep in a tangled copse alongside the fairway of the eighteenth. birds were chirping. They were staring down at benny's titleist that had rolled up against what looked to be the decomposing body of a middle-aged greenskeeper.
-how long do you suppose he's been here? f.w. sucked on his golf tee, evaluating the corpse.
-the more important question f.w. is, Can i consider this an unplayable lie?
-don't you think we should report this? i mean, it is a dead body.
-sure, we'll report it, after the round. i could break ninety.
-you are having a good round.
-good? it's unbelievable! did you see that fade on 15? and the birdie on 12? i'm on fire here. fucking dead body. i'm still counting this round towards my handicap.
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