Walking Down The Fairway Of Life

He stuffed the last greasy mouthful of double beef burger into his mouth. Juggling its packaging in one paw and propelling his trolley with the other he kept on walking down the fairway of life. Brown remnants of some sauce snaked down his chin. The glistening temporarily stained skin made him look like there had been a major culinary accident in the vicinity. This was eating on the run golf style. Getting something substantial into you at the halfway mark. Nine holes had been and gone. Nine more holes had just begun. I don’t know how he does it, digesting mid stride and mid swing.