My phone vibrates rapidly in my pocket mid swing. I keep my eye’s level, shoulders square and swing through hard. The ball carries down the fairway, fading away slightly at the last moment, still playable. As I walk back to the cart I pull my phone out of my pocket.
“MIke, looks like the rain is moving in faster than we thought.” I call out.
“Fucking weatherman is always wrong I swear, I dont know how they keep their jobs.” Mike replies angrily, as If I have any control over it.
We were only midway though our 18 hole round. We thought we would be clear of the rain, but obviously that was not going to be the case. Looking up at the sky I can see the darkening clouds starting to move our way from the west.
“I don’t think we’re gonna be able to finish the round, we might have to wait this out at the clubhouse.”
“Fuck that.” he says. “Let’s just go find a weather shelter, the storm will be quick.” he says while looking at his phone.