The air in the clubhouse usually smelled of stale coffee and expensive leather, but today, it tasted like copper.
It wasn't the perfect swing of a pro; it was the desperate, rhythmic lunge of a man who had spent ten years chasing a ghost. The ball took flight, a white speck against the bruised purple of the late afternoon sky. It hung there, agonizingly long, before dropping— clatter-thump —right onto the short grass. "Nice leave," Leo whispered. [S1E13] Breaking 80
"You’re overthinking the wind," Leo said, leaning against the bag. Leo had been Arthur's caddy since they were kids, back when "breaking 80" meant not getting grounded before noon. "The wind is fine," Arthur snapped. "It’s the water." The air in the clubhouse usually smelled of
Arthur didn't respond. He walked. Every step toward the ball felt like wading through deep water. He reached his lie. 145 yards out. An 8-iron. Leo had been Arthur's caddy since they were
English 
German