I’m hanging out in this apartment in Miami again, whiling away the time sitting in a chair on the balcony gazing down 15 floors to the beach and street below. Cars going by, boats in the water. Then I see a wheeze of geezers across the way, next to a tennis court, playing some game on a long rectangular strip of astroturf, dressed in sweat pants and parkas. It must be down to 68 degrees outside. They take turns rolling balls down the rectangle. It’s an almost motionless game which I’m going to call “lawn bowling” even if it’s not. Ball rolls, six geezers watch it roll to a stop, different ball rolls, six geezers watch it roll to a stop. I watch it for a few minutes, idly absorbing possible rules of play.
After the 14th or 15th ball rolls down the rectangle, I find myself inexplicably saying “nice shot.”