I’m hitting golf balls at a driving range on Highway 27 next to this older WASP-ie  looking guy.  He’s behind me.  Suddenly he lets out this cry of pain, “Ahhhh,  I think I pulled a glut!”.  I turn  to see if he’s alright, “Maybe you just have a cramp.”.  “No this is definitely a pull, sh’#$t!  This happened two years ago and I missed a whole summer of golf.”  He gives me what’s left of his bucket and hobbles off to his vintage Range Rover Defender.  It has a pristine Robert August surfboard sticking out of the back.  Maybe he’ll give me that as well.  I look around and literally see piles of un-hit balls littering the bright green grass like Easter eggs.  I estimate 200+ balls lying around, roughly a $45 dollar value.  This is clear evidence of the kind of Wall Street excess and the portion of capital gains savings that’s not trickling down to the middle class. Either that or rich white people might be genetically predisposed to weak butt muscles.  Later we attend a big house warming party.  The place looks like someone took the MoMA and beamed it into the sand dunes of Amagansett.  My wife is talking to some couple and motioning  for me to come over.  I pick up the a story in mid-stream as the couple is talking about  leaving another  fancy party the night before after picking their car up from the valet.  Here’s the actual dialogue that ensued roughly five minutes after they got in the car.

Wife: “Oh my god Honey!  Did you let one go?”
Husband:  “What the f#ck are you talking about? I didn’t fart. Did you do it? “
Wife:  “Why the f#ck would I ask you if you did it,  if I did it?”
Husband: “Because you’ve done that before. Even when you’re not drunk.”
Wife:  “Just roll down a window.”
Intruder in the back seat:  “Sorry, I think it was me”
Wife/Husband:  “AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH, holy F$@ck!”
Husband: “Dude, WTF are you doing in my car?”
Wife: “How could you sleep lying across two children’s car seats like that?”
Husband: “Honey, I have at least ten other questions we need to ask this guy.”
Intruder: “Can you drop me off at the Surf Club in Montauk? I think my car’s there.”
Wife/Husband:  “Get the F#ck out!”

As we get our car back from the valet, we both climb in and check out the back seat.  Two empty  seats and the compartment smells like air freshener from the car wash.  All good!