“It wasn't great, but it was the only one for many miles.” Now…
Ghosts tee off across moss-smothered islands. All rough; no fairway, green, holes.
A thong hangs limp. Wet wipes wave in the wind. Zywiec, Zubr, Lech lay spent.
Something’s been digging in the bunker. Ninety-four yards out, but which way?
“Good luck finding them. Gypsies have probably scrapped them all already.”
Errol from Wanstead hit a hole in one here. One to tell the grandkids.
“Temporarily closed. Re-open 2013.” It never did though.