A round of golf.
A frail, diminutive man, barely five feet tall and looking every bit of ninety-eight years old, shuffled into the Pebble Beach Clubhouse for lunch. His 1920s-style suit, complete with a weathered top hat, seemed plucked from a bygone era, yet the staff greeted him with warm smiles, charmed by his quaint appearance. The waitress, Francie, couldn’t help but find the little man adorable as he devoured a towering plate of food with the gusto of a much younger soul. “Quite the appetite for such a tiny fellow,” she murmured, marveling. Tom, eyeing the man’s single club—a battered number…