Foursome Ts07-54 Min: Hurleypurley

I teed up the black gutty. It looked like a clot of night. My first swing was a prayer. The ball vanished.

Chip swung. He didn’t hit the ball. He hit the air, and the air hit him back. He flew six feet, landed in a patch of bog myrtle, and came up spitting peat. hurleypurley foursome ts07-54 Min

Ding.

“Hurley Purley Foursome,” old Jock McTavish would grunt, tapping ash from his pipe. “That’s no a game. It’s a reckoning.” I teed up the black gutty

We didn’t finish the round. We picked up the ball, walked back to the clubhouse in silence, and left the niblick and brassie on the first tee. By morning, they were gone. So was the leather rule-sheet. ” old Jock McTavish would grunt