If there was any particular significance to a golf tournament held in Rock's living room-den, he didn't know what it was, but it was apparently meaningful to someone. There was a five-wood on the floor and best he could figure, he had hit it long and straight, perhaps back into the kitchen. The event was the talk of the room.
The course was a mess—furniture out of place, a wastepaper basket knocked over, day-old coffee spilled on the rug. Rock ate two tubes of Gu and tried to stand as Jo watched.
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