There was a warm breeze from the ocean.
The music was good.
Two couples were dancing an improvised two step.
I sat down at an empty table.
On the beach I could see Jeff and the boys
walking along the edge of the water.
The night before I had been up late
finishing a story about a Golf course in Palo Alto
where I had spent several afternoons listening to conversations --
the amiable gossip of women in matching shirts and shorts;
the men more intent on shop talk
than they were on hitting a little white ball.
The brilliant green grass and the twang of the struck golf ball,
The noise of golf carts rolling along.
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