"What's your name?"
"Basong Chalumpeng."
"Niang Songxi."
"Stick with me, you won't regret it."
Mexico City, the golf course inside the National Palace.
Victor, wearing a hat, stood stiffly with sunglasses on, holding his breath as he gently pushed the ball with a club. The ball slowly rolled into the hole.
Clap, clap, clap…
Nearby, Casare, also wearing a hat, applauded and said, "Boss, your technique has improved so quickly. It won't be long before you can play in professional leagues."
Victor handed the club to the caddie. "My technique? It's like a drug dealer selling candy—completely winging it. I have no idea how the ball went in, purely luck."
Laughing together, the two walked back to the lounge.
The waiter had prepared drinks and warm long-sleeved clothes.
"But I still prefer fishing. I'm a country bumpkin, grew up poor in a rural area, and never got used to stuff like this."
Playing golf was largely to integrate into this circle.
