We walked under a large moon that lit the ground. The path we followed was different from the one I’d come in on. This path was grass, with trees all around. The man walked with his face tilted up toward the sky. I walked looking from side to side. The dark growth twitched and crackled. I saw sets of eyes without bodies. I thought of fine teeth closing on my arm—the chaos of wire-stiff hair and hot, wet blood. I thought of what I would do. What the man would do.

I turned to the man. He opened his mouth and made a long sound. He made it again and again. While he made it, no other sound could be heard. It was a sound I’d heard before. It came from him in starts and stops in a rhythm that was not unfamiliar.

SALAD DAYS

Now we’d settled into something else—he and I.

Every other day, we got a coupon in the mail from the new casino downtown. They were offering ten dollars each to spend on slots and two free lunch buffets, so we went.

We arrived in the morning and helped ourselves to the complimentary rolls and coffee. Then we wandered around until a particular machine called to us. We sat down and played our ten dollars. And wouldn’t you know—we won every time.

We’d cash out quickly and head to the buffet. They had a special fried shrimp dish on certain days, and a spectacular Jell-O salad we both enjoyed.

From there, we’d breeze out of the parking ramp with our validated ticket and drive directly to the golf course. A friend of his was the new manager there. If we came on a weekday before five, he’d forget to ring us up. He gave us keys to a cart and off we went.

We found sets of used clubs at a charity shop and kept them in the trunk. Mine came in a baby-blue bag of simulated leather. Each of the clubs was sheathed in a knitted blue-and-white sock with a pom-pom on top.

I got some athletic shoes, too. I had long-standing doubts about the category—their bulkiness and relationship to the size of my feet and the shape of my calves in general—and had never owned a pair.

You’re right, he said when I tried them on in the sporting-goods store. They do look a little funny on you.

He was too competitive, and he drove the cart too fast. But for a while, I didn’t mind the hustle. My game was improving. Our winnings were adding up on account of our low expenditure rate. I kept our tab in a little notebook.

When we returned the cart and tallied our scorecards with tiny pencils at the clubhouse canteen, his friend brought us rum-and-cokes in frosted glasses and bottomless bowls of popcorn and salted peanuts in the shell.

Then one night he went to use the bathroom before we left. I slid from my barstool and leaned over to tie my sneaker.