A hand landed on my ass. I stood up. His friend was there, grinning. He did not withdraw his hand.

I bet you like to fuck, the friend said.

On the way back to the apartment, we were all over the road. My husband was jerking the wheel. A fine mist coated the windshield, but he did not flip the switch to wipe it. He went to the bedroom right away and began to snore. I lay on the couch but did not sleep.

In the morning, we arrived late to the casino. The coffee and rolls had been cleared away, so we ordered from a waitress walking the floor. She returned with two tepid cupfuls and charged us four dollars. I made a mark in my notebook.

The bad coffee soured our empty stomachs. None of the slots looked like winners. The place was crowded with elderly types and chain-smokers. The machines trilled shrilly around us.

We gave up our divination routine at last and sat down at random machines on opposite sides of the room. Mine was called Aces Wild. I plunked down the money and yanked the arm. I pulled dud after dud. Then my ten dollars was gone.

I found him slouched across a vinyl banquette. He shook his head.

At the buffet, the offerings were unrecognizable. We questioned the hostess, who told us a new chef had been hired.

What about the special shrimp? we said. And the Jell-O salad?

Have you tried the crawfish étouffée? she said.

Because we’d forgotten to stamp our parking ticket, we paid the smug cashier eight dollars to release us. I made another notation.

At the golf course, the friend was nowhere to be seen. A teenager greeted us at the clubhouse window. That’ll be eighteen dollars, she said.

I want to play, he said, turning toward me.

So I reached into my billfold, plucked a crisp twenty, and handed it over.

I’d never seen him play so poorly. I was beating him on every hole. He hit into the scrub every time. He lost ball after ball. He cursed. He stood rigidly, hands on his hips, shaking his head in disgust. He spit on the grass and grunted.

As we drove toward the last hole, it began to rain. The grass slickened. He took us downhill—fast.

Then he made a sharp, unexpected turn—and I flew. I landed on my back several yards away.

He braked abruptly, then looked back at me. The party on the neighboring hole stopped their game.

Get up, he said.

A man from the other party waved. Everything okay? he called.

Get up, he said. People are looking.

The rain was falling lightly on my face. The grass was cool beneath me.

Get up, goddamn it, he said. He got out of the cart and walked toward me.

And then—like some kind of miracle—someone shouted, Fore! and a neon-green ball materialized. It struck him on the side of the head. He made a sound like a cushion deflating. He fell to the ground.