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This story has no meaning, if you expect a meaning, go read Esopo. This story has no importance, if you expect importance, 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. This story has no content, if you want content, go to another story. This story does have an author, but if you want a good author, go read Cervantes



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 became 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 lit 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, "Mr. Cap...Mr. Galleano, I have a proposal for you, I believe I told you already..." Gebbler stopped as the Capital held his hand up, in a sign of halt. He gave his putter to the caddie and plucked a small piece of dust from the shoulder of his golfing attire.

"Oh yes, your...idea," the Capital told him, smirking.

"You see, it is a very promising market, not many competitors are in it. All we need is a decent product, and marketing. I know some people, friends of my father, and they know other people in this field...now, you don't have many contacts, and I don't have much..." he was going to say capital, but, for some reason, he decided for "I need an initial investment."

The Capital didn't seem convinced. "N-normally, I would go to a bank, but this is a niche market, and it will take some time until people start to notice me, not enough time to pay for any money I borrow from a bank. So, my best choice is a partnership, specially with a successful man like yourself, that will get us attention."

The Capital simply nodded. After a moment of silence, he finally answered, "Mr. Huttwell, I am a naturally blunt man, so I will be blunt. I don't give a shit about your project, it's too risky, still, the kind of price you're asking me is less than I make in a semester. So I don't see why not. If you make me interested. Now, we known each other for quite some time now..."

Gebbler wasn't liking the way this conversation was going. "And we play golf every week, we even go to each other's house sometimes, now when I go to your house, I can't help but notice your daughter..." Gebbler snickered, and regretted it soon enough.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Galleano, but she is...well, she is seventeen and you...well, I don't think she would be interes..." Gebbler tried to explain, but was cut short, by a Leonardo that gestured widely, slightly flushed

"Oh, no. I don't mean myself; I mean my son, he is very interested in your daughter it seems, but, of course, he is the son of a poor Italian man, and, at his age, a bit clumsy with the...girl problem," Leonardo accidentally dropped a cigar again, it was the third that day, he forgot about it and continued, "So, I thought that we might be associates in family as much as in business, if you know what I mean." said the Capital.

"I want the best for my son, of course, and, currently, the best for him is marrying a girl of status before he falls for one of those pretty crackheads. I thought that you could...facilitate the process, if you understand what I mean," said the Capital.

"Ah, I'll see what I can do," Gebbler said, and said no more. But his answer was "Of course, Mr. Capital, your son will marry a girl of status no matter if I have to whip my daughter into submission myself," in his mind, of course.

The Capital probably took that as acquiescence, because he tapped Gebbler's shoulder and told him, in a friendly tone, "Nice doing business with you, now...the next hole is the seventh or the sixth?"

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