I was the Mini Golf King. Yes, back in those blurry late 80s there wasn’t a course that could trip me up. Slippery slopes, puddle patches, shady piles of windswept maple keys were all no match for my well-practiced whacking of that neon pink ball. Smack it off the chewed-up mat, bounce it off the … Continue reading #269 The sound of a golf ball falling into the cup