The screen shimmered. A soft, warm breeze filled his office, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass. He blinked. His armchair was gone. He was standing on a tee box floating on a bed of cumulus clouds. The fairway was a ribbon of emerald green stitched into the sky. The flags below weren't on greens; they were on the peaks of distant, snowy mountains.
On the 18th hole, as he lined up a five-foot birdie putt, the screen flickered. skygolf.com login
He had finally figured it out. The login wasn't a URL. It was a state of mind. The screen shimmered