The TV sat silent. The fire crackled quietly. California was surprising chilly this time of year. Tomorrow will be fun. 6am tee time in Malibu.
He recalled Robert Marshal: “The morning of the 8th dawned with a warm flush of saffron, rose, and gold, behind which the faint purple of the night that was gone died into the mists of early morning. The pure, sweet air was delicious as the sparkling vapour that rises from a newly opened bottle of invigorating wine. The incoming tide plashed on the beach with lazy and musical kisses, and a soft, melodious wind was stirring the bending grasses that crowned the sand dunes on the outskirts of the links. I inhaled the glorious air with the rapture of the warrior who sniffs the battle from afar.”