Urban Golf, plump me up.

    I saw a gun. It was shiny. It was in the hand of a young man, casually walking down Amsterdam.

  I got hit with a golf ball, whilst casually walking down Amsterdam. I turned around and was ready to throw it back. Then I remembered I'd seen someone with a gun and I wasn't in Kansas anymore. I approached a man on 103rd, where the ball had come from. He was holding a nine iron.

  "You want your ball back mate?"

  "Yeah, thanks. Sorry if it hit you. It hit a tree first"

  "That's cool. What are you doing anyway?"

  "Playing golf"

  "Oh"

  --Silence--

  "You see that there" He says, pointing to the hostel.

  "Yeah, I see that there"

  "That's mine" He says cooly as he swings at another ball, this time eastwards down 103rd.

  --Silence--

  So, I met the owner of the hostel.