Roommates

There were too many people here. Rock was enrolled for classes at the University of Central Arkansas in Conway, and he had been eager to find an inexpensive place to live before a man who ran a print shop near the campus invited him to move into his apartment.

Rock was aware the man had other roommates, but he didn't know how many until he awoke on a couch in the den, early his first morning there to see a crowd of overweight, college-aged women pass by him between their bedrooms and the apartment's only bathroom.

"Good morning, everyone," he said.

Several of the women smiled and returned Rock's well wishes. Others passed by without pause. Neither response surprised him, but he knew there were too many people in this apartment. He would have to find someplace else to stay.

English words

Things were underway in Rock's house that foretold for him a future in which English words would no longer mean what they had from the previous days of his life. He wasn't sure how to react. All he knew was that he needed something to eat and that his cat Joe seemed confused.
Rock was hopeful, but this wasn't a good circumstance.

Rock's pro shop

A handful of old golf historians worked for years to turn Rock's house into a golf museum, a structure that would celebrate the early days of the game in the United States. They tried to make it look like a nineteenth-century clubhouse but had apparently fallen short with the pro shop. All of the clubs in it were relatively modern. Only one—a putter—dated back more than fifteen years.
Rock gradually began to understand that his job had been to acquire the clubs. Obviously, he had made no effort in that regard. He realized he was in big trouble and that the men would arrive soon. All he knew to do was to let his restless, nearly panicked cat Joe go outside.

Anxious for his demise

It wasn't until he reached the door that Rock realized he had two tins of Altoids mints in his hand. He saw a woman at the register staring at him, and he became immediately self-conscious of his apparent attempt at theft. He responded by returning the containers to a candy counter that he thought seemed out of place at a night club such as this one.
Rock was in Nashville, Arkansas, at the club on Sunset Boulevard, three blocks away from his maternal grandmother's house. After he put the candy back, he saw that the woman continued to glare in his direction. He was worried and hoped he could walk to his car and drive away without incident, but when he reached his ten-year-old Chevrolet Impala, it was turned upside down in the parking lot. The trunk had popped open and the doors were buckled out.
It took him a moment to realize there was no way he could drive to his grandmother's house and that the car was a loss, but he knew her house was a short walk away. He walked down Sunset, but his relief was short-lived. People, perhaps creatures, were all around him, anxious for his demise.

Deliberate obfuscation

Rock hadn't seen this sort of crowd at Oaklawn Park since the late 1980s, and thirty or more reporters were there for the Arkansas Derby, packed into a new, ultra-modern press box. The weather was horrid. Rain fell in torrents and cut through fog so thick it was difficult to distinguish one horse from another in the post parade.

Once the race was underway, Rock and everyone else in the press box had trouble seeing through row after row of computer monitors. Midway through the race, no one had yet determined the order of the field. It seemed as if this obfuscation was deliberate.