In a nonchalant, dispassionate way I picked up the 6 iron and started swinging, aiming for the enormous dark night that hung listlessly over my head and extending into the far distance. The air felt cold; colder as the wind picked up momentum, enveloping my every sense with chill, yet my mind remain defiant, as, one by one, golf ball disappeared into the dark gloom, each carrying off a bit of my melancholy, my sorrow and my helplessness.

It was around 8:20 PM, after sunset, where no traces of daylight was left lingering, there formed a beautiful picture in the distance, where which the merging point between the dark night and the city's mechanical luminescence formed a dark purplish patch of ponderable size and luridness, and, with the help from the many fellow golf practicer, shooting stars disguised in the form of tiny golf balls were repeatedly launched skyward in haphazard fashion into the backdrop of purplish heaven. Wishes were whispered introspectively: "Get me out of here; get me somewhere; let me live my life as it should."