A Sunny Thursday Morning

'''This story has no meaning, if you expect a meaning, go read Esopo. This story has no plot, if you expect a plot, go read Homer. This story has no morals, if you expect morals, go read Spinoza. This story has no substance, if you expect substance, go read a book.'''

The little white thing went higher and higher and higher until no longer gravity could just tolerate this dull and monotone behaviour and decided to bring it down. Unwilling to argue, the golf ball decided to just do as was demanded of it (the ball was a pushover after all) and fell to the ground, missing by a few metres the hole it was supposed to fall into.

Far from there, a man of about forty five years old cursed, his ball had fallen much farther from the sixth hole than Leonardo's. "Guess I can't compete with you, Mr. Galleano," he admitted, letting one of his hands slip into his pockets.

"Don't be ridiculous Mr. Huttwell, you were doing quite fine until recently, and you do play a lot less than myself," said the Italian man, taking his cigar out of the mouth. Gebbler Hutwell knew he only did that to appear distinguished, and he wasn't so wrong, Leonardo still disliked the taste and the smell of cigars, but he only become rich for about six months ago.

Gebbler, on the other hand, was born distinguished. His family was one of the happy families that manufactured tobacco-based products, and he was the king of that empire since his father died when he was thirty. But, as Leonardo so elegantly demonstrated, people preferred to buy from the competitors. So he recently had sold the company to a bigger one. But since he was about to go bankrupt, he had sold it for less than a third of its true value.

The Italian man called the caddies and the four of them walked to where the balls had fallen. A little while ago, when they began, Gebbler had cursed Leonardo when he insisted that they didn't rent a golf cart, but only in his mind. Because Gebbler still hadn't given up. In fact, he had a admirable business project that simply couldn't fail, except he needed capital. And Leonardo had capital. Leonardo was practically the Capital.

The Capital gently tapped the ball with his putter, and hit the hole. A birdie. He pulled the cigar out of his mouth, to chuckle, but he was a bit clumsy and the cigar fell to the ground, not even half-smoked. He sighed and took a box of cigars from his pocket, he pulled one, cut it, put it in his mouth, and lighted it. He then stepped on the ten euros worth thing to put it out.

He waited for Gebbler's strike. Gebbler didn't realize it for some seconds, as he still tried to process what just happened. After he did, he blurted out, "Ca...Mr. Galleano, I have a proposal for you, I believe I told you already...