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THE STUFF OF DREAMS
George Plimpton
November 04, 1968
Golf, because it is the loneliest of games, is conducive to reflection and imaginings. Usually the subject is oneself—perhaps sinking 60-foot putts under heroic circumstances—but on occasion the mind may wander far, triggered by one small fact into a fantasy that can lead even to the rough of hillbilly country, where....
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November 04, 1968

The Stuff Of Dreams

Golf, because it is the loneliest of games, is conducive to reflection and imaginings. Usually the subject is oneself—perhaps sinking 60-foot putts under heroic circumstances—but on occasion the mind may wander far, triggered by one small fact into a fantasy that can lead even to the rough of hillbilly country, where....

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"What you got in that thing back there?"

"Pappy's Peach Preserves. About 99 cans. It's handy stuff to have in this part of the country."

That seemed to be the extent of Sleep's interest.

"There's a chicken in the sack, too," the golfer said. "Next farmhouse you see, pull up and we'll let the bird out."

"Anything you say," said Sleep.

Lord, thought the golfer. The interest that guy takes in what goes on around him. He listened to Sleep begin to hum and the gentle dialogues start up. "So, listen, Martha, I think I'll go down and get the paper." "Why all right, that's just fine, tum-te-tum, and, hey, bring me back a pack of Old Golds."

"Hey, Sleep," he said.

"Hmmm."

"Listen, thanks for turning around. How many hours down the road was it when you did?"

"Damn, man, it was a long while."

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