They did not ask which loft I wanted. They asked whether the sleeve still sat round in the bore after two seasons at Magnolia Grove. It did not. Mal recut it. I played the next Saturday without the click on the downswing.
Salt notes
What people said once the sleeve sat
These are not star ratings. They are notes we were allowed to put on Dauphin Street after the morning torque. Names are first-name and neighborhood, because that is how the desk already knows them.
Ferrule looked drunk after a week in Gulf Shores. Isla recollared it to a size that was not in the catalog bag I brought. The ring sits now. I stopped picking at it in the cart.
I wanted a same-day pour before a Fairhope shotgun. They took forty dollars and the head overnight instead. I was mad until the old shop’s four-hour epoxy — the one that spun in June — came to mind. This one has not moved.
Garage through-drill on a cheap head I should have thrown away. Mal said scrap. I appreciated the no more than a yes would have cost me later on the Peninsula.
Putter neck ticked every time I walked off a wet green at Azalea City. Rhea restemmed the plumber and told me not to convert it. Still a plumber. Quiet now.
Drove over from Spanish Fort with three adapters in a grocery bag. They made me pick one head. Collar Check on that one, ticket for the others later. Desk does not do a pile.
Want your note on this wall? Say so when you pick up the head. We will not invent a paragraph for you.
Hold a bore