Golf Balls and Lightning

A canal, with a view from underneath. Glass windows into dark water. I’m in China, walking down a huge, ornate stairway in a hillside. It begins to rain. Thunder and lightning. On a rooftop, a man hits golf balls into the sky, and the balls are struck by lightning. I pick one up from the ground. It is elongated and deformed by the strike. People rush from the storm with umbrellas. In another rooftop, a second man hurls golf balls to knock the first guys balls out if the sky, before the lightning strikes. 
I keep the deformed ball, and walk to work with a friend. He claims A started working with us twelve years ago. We’ve only been working together for eight years. I enter a shopping centre, browse some duty free woks, and ride the upward escalator. At the top, wheels propel me across to another escalator, this time made of soft play materials. I scramble up it, thinking of Alastair Sim. 


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